Bad Timing
by Nightwitch87
Summary: It starts out simple, ridiculously simple, considering they are playing with fire here. Fire isn't controlled easily. Behind the scenes action starting from "Rhodium Nights" all the way through "Surrender Benson" involving a variety of characters, relationships, mistrust and loyalty conflicts. And also Bensidy beginnings. COMPLETE.
1. Temptation

_Author's Note:__ Back again. With this chapter, I am test driving (piloting?) an idea I had for a story that's a little different in style again from the last few. It takes us all the way back to 2012 and behind the scenes of the Season 13 finale/Season 14 premiere, and possibly further. However, continuing it would require rewatching a lot and establishing a timeline for pretty complex episodes, so we'll see how that works out. Regarding timeline, this first chapter takes place before they actually go after Delia and all hell breaks loose with Cragen, so we are part way through "Rhodium Nights". I'll let you figure out the rest. Let me know what you think! Is it worth continuing, or not so much? I won't bite unless I'm very hungry!_

_Disclaimer:__ I own nothing, the Law and Order franchise obviously isn't mine, and I am not deriving any profit from this._

* * *

**Bad Timing**

Olivia had always resented the annoying buzzing of her phone, the little ping that usually indicated she was needed somewhere, because when did she ever get messages that weren't about that? Texts, to her, were bad news. Yes, Elliot and her had done their fair share of off-duty texting about random, stupid things, but that had been before he had gone off and changed everything on her. Since then, there had been an awkward radio silence between them, interrupted only by stilted "happy new years" and "happy birthdays". Maybe it was better this way. Everything else would only make it that much harder, especially when she was finally starting to get…not exactly comfortable, but used to his absence.

So when this started, this _thing_, she knew instantly that it wasn't a good idea. She should have learned as much from Elliot or, at the very least, from David. The mixture of work and pleasure inevitably led to someone getting hurt, to someone caring more and someone going off, leaving her with just work, and her life could never be about "just work" again. Work was work, and her life was her life, filled with other things like lunches with lawyers, watching sports and going to the gym. She had worked hard to get where she was today. But this thing was a tremendously bad idea for a multitude of other reasons as well. She could already picture being forced to read her text messages out loud in court, the questions they would elicit, making her out to be compromised. She couldn't do this during an ongoing investigation, although he wasn't a suspect. She couldn't possibly. She did.

[Meant what I said. You look good.]

She stared at the display and the unknown number it flashed for a moment. It took her a second to realise that it could only be one person, that this wasn't a "wrong number" sort of situation. [Why thank you. No signature? I can only assume this is Juan from the coffee shop.] What the hell was she doing?

[Don Juan. You know, the stunningly handsome guy with the great ass.] She felt a warmth filling her cheeks, a smile spread on her face. That careless idiot texted in full sentences, even using punctuation, unlike what he had used to do in the early days of text messages. She nestled down into the corner of the sofa, tucking her feet under her body.

[Great? Pretty bony I'd say.]

[Knew you looked. ;) How could you resist]

[P.S.: Time has been kind to you too.]

[Stop, you'll make me blush like a girl.]

It occurred to her that, apart from being _mildly_ unprofessional, this was possibly dangerous if Ganzel kept tabs on his phone. If he got caught at this, he would have to spin some story about playing her. For all she knew, he was, although he wouldn't get very far with that. [Should you be texting me?]

[…she asks on the 4th reply.]

[Cassidy, stop. Is this safe?]

[Relax. Been doing this for a while.]

[Late night texting random women?] She switched the tone back to light-hearted, because what the hell. He had to know what he was doing. It was her own fault for giving him her number for emergencies in the first place, and texting "you're supposed to be undercover, remember?" was clearly the more dangerous option. It didn't hurt to try and get him to cooperate with their investigation.

[It's what I do in this millennium. You an early nighter now?] She could picture his cocky grin, imagine his voice as he posed the question. That didn't help. Since when was crudeness sexy?

[I wish. You still out?]

[Nope. Hoe.]

[Hoe?]

[*Home, damn you autocorrect]

[It's pretty sad that your phone autocorrects to hoe.]

[That's my life.]

[No kidding...] She was instantly reminded of the fact that he had just spent a night in prison. More importantly, he lived in a world where women were disposable goods whose market value determined their existence. It was impossible to reconcile this, the tough act and the "hookers", with the young detective who had once had to step outside a crime scene to throw up.

[What are you up to?]

[This and that, saving the world, baking waffles. The usual. You?]

[The same, what a coincidence! Kind of wish you were here though.]

That had been the start of The Thing, which would continue over the next few nights. She never let the ongoing investigation become their subject of conversation –that much didn't need to be said- and she never allowed the flirting to become explicit to the point where it would embarrass her too bad, couching it in references to past events. They never talked about their lives, not the hard day to day stuff. It was all inside jokes, casual teasing and "what the hell is Rihanna thinking?!".

It was harmless fun, for that brief time. And yet she always ended it with a "stay safe" or something of the sort.

* * *

Nick was not a fan of Cassidy. She couldn't blame him, but he was overdoing it in his wrathful judgement, too quick to believe anything the pretty blonde with the big eyes and the vulnerable look told him. "You said it yourself, Ganzel's the up and coming guy in this…business."

"And Cassidy told us as much." She had followed Nick up to the roof, where he had stormed off to after claiming to "need some air" following the case conference they had had. She was watching him pace with her arms crossed. She wanted to talk about this professionally, but she wasn't going to play therapist to his wounded soul. Whatever had been going on with him lately, he hadn't confided in her, and she wasn't about to start questioning the reasons behind his anger now, in the middle of a discussion about witnesses.

"What if Ganzel planted the girl there to pin it on Delia, to take her out once and for all and make room for him?"

"It's possible, but risky. Ganzel's already taking over the market; he had nothing to gain by drawing police attention to himself. Delia, on the other hand-"

"We got no evidence against Delia."

"Cassidy reckons it was her sending a message to Ganzel, and it makes _sense_, Nick" she emphasized as he turned away from her, shaking his head and leaning against the railing. "It fits the picture of a master manipulator who gets away with it over and over again." The woman had given her the creeps with her bullshit farmer act, her kids, her feeding of orphaned goats. Ganzel was a disgusting pig, but she – what was she? She was intransparent. She was guilty as hell, but unfortunately, a mere gut feeling couldn't be taken as evidence. Actual evidence had a convenient habit of vanishing in her case. _"Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows how deep her hooks go."_ She vividly recalled Cassidy's face at the dead serious warning. For a moment there, he had looked scared. That part had been real.

"Well, he would say that, wouldn't he? It conveniently fits his agenda of being undisturbed in his investigation. If that is even his agenda. He's doing his job, protecting Ganzel."

"He's risking exposure by talking to us."

"What about Carissa? What would she know about the girl's death if Delia were behind it? She's not Delia's girl anymore."

"But that's the question: What does she know? Has she given you anything concrete whatsoever?"

His jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth together, turning around to face her again. "She's scared, with good reason."

They were turning in circles here. This was getting to be a nearly exact repeat of the conversation they had had inside. "Nick" she tried a different, softer approach, "I know you want to help her. But if she's Ganzel's fiancé, don't you think it's much more likely that she is doing exactly what he tells her to?"

"I know that" he snapped, visibly offended. "The question is why bother with me, with all of this, if Ganzel isn't involved."

"Even if he didn't order the murder, it doesn't exactly make him innocent. We need to be careful here. And you have to be careful with her, trust me." She came to lean against the railing beside him, facing the edge of the building. The smell of the rush hour smog hit her nostrils as the traffic underneath had thickened to a clump.

"Trust…have you ever considered that maybe you should be more careful with Cassidy? I know guys like him, Liv, undercover for too long, blurring the lines, losing perspective…at some point, being the guy becomes easier than playing a role."

"You don't know him."

"You don't know him, either! What, you knew him a million years ago so that means you can read his mind now? People _change_. Being UC for too long changes people. He's not the guy you think you know."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He squared his shoulders, standing up a little taller. "I don't know the story here, Liv, but I think you're inclined to agree with his him because- I think you're not being objective."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you." Screw him, his opinion had "projecting" written all over it. For Nick to accuse her like that was him throwing stones where he really, really had no business doing it. "Are you objective about Carissa?"

"That's not my point!" he shouted, exasperated. "You gotta see that him prioritizing his investigation to a murder case is weird."

"A case he's been working on for three years." She did not want to discuss this with her partner, because she felt like she had lead that discussion in her own head many times. There was nothing new he could add to it. "He's a good cop."

"Maybe he used to be a good cop. Right now, he's a pimp working for Ganzel, possibly working with Ganzel, so just remember that." He gave her a firm look, which she held completely, until he was the first to break eye contact and walk away.

He was right in one respect, as much as she hated to admit it: She didn't know Cassidy. Not this Cassidy. The years had clearly changed him, made him wearier, rougher around the edges, harder in his views. She was inclined to write it off as an act, a shell that protected him in his boyish charm, but that might or might not be true. He could be using that. She didn't want to believe it, but it was a possibility. Just how much did she really see him when she looked at him, when she saw him scouting poledancers at a strip club, assessing their aptitude for an escort service as men leered at them? He was one of these men. He had to be. But then again, hadn't the years changed her, too? Wasn't it to be expected that he had grown more jaded, given the environment he worked in? That didn't necessarily mean he was playing them. He could simply be trying to survive in his environment. Whoever he was, whatever he had done, his sensible worry about his cover being blown was real. She could see that.

It was Munch who staunched the discussion by opening the metal door on them. "Hey, not to interrupt you guys and your personal feud, but we have a case to work here. So if you don't mind, Detectives…"


	2. Trust

_Author's Note:__ I am really sorry about the formatting issues in the last chapter. For some reason, the document manager deleted my brackets and I noticed too late. Anyway, it's all fixed now so if you have only just started reading, ignore this comment, because it doesn't apply anymore. And, as usual, I would love it if you could let me know what you think. This chapter takes us through the events of "Lost Reputation". _

* * *

It was strange how things could change within a week. What had once felt like a hunt gone well for the most powerful madam in the city, an NYPD triumph, had gone to pieces within hours. The proud gem of an investigation had been turned into a weapon against them. Their lives, all of their lives, would be destroyed soon enough, as Cragen's was threatened to be. _"Walk away, little people."_ It was a warning you couldn't, in all good conscience, heed. Yet every time she had thought "we got her, we got her now, surely", one more wall had popped up. David, Amaro's wife, Carissa, it was all known to that woman. Whenever she had thought of someone to turn to or some little trick to pull, it turned out that this person was already on the radar. There was no one they could trust now, perhaps not even each other, and that sense of powerlessness paralyzed her. If they could get to Cragen, of all people, they could get anyone. Without order, they were starting to turn on each other, and that couldn't help anyone. Chaos threatened to take over. Her Captain, who usually knew the answers or at least tried to provide a direction, was the one who needed her help now, and for the first time in this investigation, she was at a loss, left only with empty, hopeful slogans that he didn't buy. She was the one providing meaningless reassurances. He had looked small to her today all of a sudden, like a shrunken, ageing man rather than her commanding officer.

[Need to talk to you asap]

[Not now. Be in touch soon.] After radio silence from her since things had started heating up with Delia following the governor's murder, she supposed that was to be expected. At least he had replied.

She ran one hand through her hair, sitting on the steps outside her apartment building. She couldn't go inside. She couldn't go back to the precinct where she would be told to leave, either. She couldn't go on working for any longer without sleep. There was not much she could do right at this second. She was well and truly fucked.

* * *

"The other night you said that Cragen's name came up on the wiretap. Is he one of the targets on your undercover op?"

Cassidy hesitated for a moment, glancing back and forth between her and Munch. "No. But don't ask me who is."

"High up?" The sergeant was visibly intrigued by this. Shocked, as all of them were, but probably less surprised. This was what he had always been telling them. "Government, NYPD, the Feds?"

"We're not playing twenty questions, John. I'm sorry, that's all I got."

This had moved far beyond the point of games and yet, she felt like he was always playing guessing games with them, throwing them bits of information and pointing them in a certain direction, then withdrawing again with few results. It was frustrating. She got that it was pure self-preservation, but it was frustrating all the same. This needed to stop.

"All right. Thanks, kid." Munch stretched out his arm, and him and his former partner exchanged a slow, firm handshake. He turned to leave. "You coming, Liv?"

"In a minute."

Cassidy was still looking at her in a funny way; he kept throwing her looks like that and she didn't know what on earth that was about. Now was not the time to figure it out. She leaned against the railing next to him, watching the beautiful skyline as it started to turn orange in the evening glow. She had to know. "You didn't know this was going to happen, right?"

"What? Did I know Carissa would get killed, and it would be pinned on your Captain?" A sudden anger flashed across his calm features. "If you even have to ask that question, why are we here?"

"Hey, I trust you!"

"Doesn't sound like it."

"I trust you" she reiterated, and why couldn't he look at her at that moment? She had been his biggest advocate from the start.

"Okay" he replied evenly, as if the anger from a moment ago had simply evaporated into thin air.

"It's just that they have so much stuff…on all of us. And you mentioned lists…" His assurance that he hadn't had a clue somehow didn't make her feel any better. If he didn't know anything, it could mean that Ganzel's trust in him had begun to waver.

"Delia has shit on everyone. That's why I warned you, remember? Going after her is suicide. Often literally."

"We have to be careful from now on."

"That's been my mantra for the past three years, until you guys showed up."

She felt a pang of guilt at that. The last thing she wanted was to jeopardize his operation, but she had to use this connection to help Cragen. "No more texts."

"No. And you keep Amaro in check."

"He suspects you."

"I kind of got that message." He stepped back from the railing, keeping one foot on the lower edge. "Jesus, Liv, why do you always end up with partners that are batshit crazy?"

"He's not." She wasn't sure which "he" she was defending here. "You just got off on the wrong foot."

"Whatever you say." He was pensive, watching the street beneath them without seeing. "Listen, I don't want Cragen in prison. I just don't know how I can help you."

"I know, I know."

* * *

The next time she saw him, the world's rotational axis seemed to have shifted again.

"I gotta bounce. Got a hot date." The glib remark couldn't smoothe over the worry lines in his face. He had barely gotten out of the car before speaking to them, rushing to get to the point. He was getting stressed, and that was saying something, considering how oddly casual he had still been after Carissa's murder, betraying nothing of his own feelings about it. He was clearly used to this world. This new tension could mean one of four things: a) they were getting too close to his actual operation, b) Ganzel was planning another major move he couldn't share with them, c) Ganzel had done something he hadn't anticipated or confided in him, or d) they were threatening to blow Cassidy's cover with their meetings and requests. C) and d) were mostly related, but none of these possibilities put her at ease. _"How many times can I tell this guy he needs to cooperate with my former employers, huh?"_ Not many more. They were walking a tight line here.

Munch leaned against the car, shuffling his feet. "What did we miss?"

She was getting pretty tired of this game of fill in the blanks. "I don't know, but I get that he's worried. Ganzel would have to be an idiot not to suspect an ex cop of playing both sides."

"You think he's right about Delia?"

"I think the bigger question is if he's right about Ganzel. A guy who runs a prostitution ring, too in love to kill his girlfriend? Doesn't ring true."

He sighed. "It rings of true love. You've always lacked an appreciation for romance, Liv. In his twisted worldview, this could make sense."

"Could or couldn't, that doesn't get us any further. But Cassidy's known Ganzel for three years, so I'm prepared to take his word on it."

"Of course you are."

"You're not?" That surprised her. If there was one man who she thought was on her side in this, who knew Cassidy and understood what things had been like, it was John Munch. So why the heavy undertone now?

"Oh, I am." He clapped her on the shoulder in passing in a weirdly patronizing gesture before moving around to his side of the car. "I am."

"So back to Delia." Finding evidence on the woman who had evaded capture for over a decade, who had murdered all their witnesses, framed their Captain for murder and possibly blackmailed the entire city government couldn't be that hard.


	3. Duty

She was not looking forward to this part. She had done this sort of thing hundreds of times over the course of her career, and it was always unpleasant, but this was different, because it was one of their own. This was one door she didn't like to knock on. It was strange that it should happen like this, because whenever she had pictured this scene in her crazy moments of mental preparation for an event that she had hoped would never occur, it had always been Kathy she would have to face. And it was almost like that was the worst part, not the possibility of anything ever happening to Elliot, but the knowledge that she would then have to be the one to go and tell her partner's wife that he wouldn't be coming home. Knowing that she would never have to do this now had been the one upside of his departure, and the explanation she had eventually provided herself with for his leaving. "That day at the precinct, he realized that he could not die in the line of duty, leaving a wife and five children behind" just sounded good.

But this was nothing like that, so her mind had absolutely no reason to wander there. Cassidy wasn't missing, they were just having some difficulties getting in touch with him; that was all. It was sensible of him to lay low right now, with Ganzel wondering who had bugged his place. Maybe he had even been in touch with his mother to reassure her, and then they would know in a minute that everything was fine.

"Ready?" Rollins asked unnecessarily before ringing the doorbell. Olivia had volunteered to go do this, and Amanda had been stuck with it because Munch, despite being the only one who actually knew Mrs. Cassidy from forever ago, hadn't been able go himself. She harboured the suspicion that this had a whole lot to do with the unpleasantness of this conversation, or with his implicit theories about how they were best suited to this task by virtue of their gender, the same way that he thought Fin was best suited to go talk to prison inmates. But there was no gentle way of doing this; either way, the poor woman would worry.

A woman with short hair opened the door. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Cassidy?" she asked unnecessarily, because it was obvious that this could only be one person.

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Benson from the Manhattan Special Victims' Unit; this is Detective Rollins." They flashed their badges.

"Oh no…" All the colour seemed to drain from the woman's face, and she knew immediately that this wasn't a complete surprise to her. She, too, had envisioned this scenario many times.

"No, no, it's not that" she reassured her quickly. "He's not…hurt." That they knew of. "We were just wondering if we could come in for a moment, because we have some questions about your son."

"What happened? Is he all right?" She stepped back and ushered them inside her narrow corridor, which immediately opened into the living room. It was a tidy room, the space optimally used with simple, slightly dated furniture and plenty of storage space on the walls.

"We have no reason to think that he isn't, but we are trying to get in touch with him."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. She gestured for them to sit down on the sofa, which was covered in a multicoloured, protective quilt of sorts. Olivia remained seated on the edge. Her eyes instantly fell on the pictures on the shelf: dated wedding pictures of Mrs. Cassidy with a good-looking man, a fairly recent picture of her with her son at some sort of sports game, an ancient family picture of the three of them on vacation, which included an awkward, skinny boy holding a fishing rod, and a very handsome one of Brian as a younger man in uniform, wearing a serious impression. She could imagine Mrs. Cassidy showing this one around whenever she was telling someone about her son. This living room told the story of a different identity, one that wasn't the tough undercover cop.

"He has been helping us with a case" Amanda jumped in. "We are not his employers, but we need to speak to him. When was the last time you've heard from him?"

The older woman's lips tightened. "Recently." It suddenly occurred to Olivia that Cassidy might have primed his mother for a situation like this, some random people pretending to be cops coming around her place looking for him. "But I don't know where he is."

That part was obviously true. "Mrs. Cassidy," Olivia leaned forward, "I used to work with your son, back when he was an SVU detective. I promise we are just trying to make sure he is okay."

"Why wouldn't he be?" The worry overtook her suspicion.

"We are having a hard time getting in touch with him. Has he contacted you at all?"

"Oh, I just saw him yesterday. We had dinner at the Dragon Pavilion until he just took off." There was a hint of indignation in her voice despite the concern. "I just figured he had been called into work again, as usual. But it's not like him to take off without saying a word."

"What happened before he left?" Amanda asked. "Did he get a phone call?"

"No, he just went to the bathroom with that…man and never came back."

"What man?" The worry was starting to spill over on Olivia now. If he had been confronted in such a public place, that wasn't good news.

"Oh, what was his name…a serious man, a bit rude…oh, Amaro!"

"Amaro?!" There was a twist she hadn't seen coming. She exchanged a glance with Amanda, whose stunned expression mirrored her own.

"Yes, I'm sure that was his name."

"Can you tell us what exactly happened? When did Amaro arrive?"

"I don't know the exact time, around 7:45, maybe, because I looked at my watch when I left at 8:20. He just walked in, Brian didn't look happy to see him. He asked if they could talk and it sounded important. Brian told him to wait until we had finished dinner, and I think Amaro apologized and said something to the effect of it couldn't wait. I said it was fine, and off they went. Neither one came back."

That stupid idiot. Nick hadn't shown up at work today, calling in sick in the middle of the Captain's case. Maybe Cassidy had been right about him. Her partner was clearly losing it, going rogue. She should have kept a closer eye on him.

"And you haven't heard from him since?" Amanda inquired.

"No." Mrs. Cassidy's eyes widened. "Wait, this Amaro isn't dangerous, is he? I just assumed…"

"No, he's a colleague; there is no need to worry." Olivia sure hoped the younger detective was right about that. "It was probably just an emergency."

Cassidy's mother bristled at that. "Then how do you not know about it? Do you people not talk to each other? Honestly, I'm not allowed to know who he works for or what he does, I barely see him, and now you show up from his old work asking questions, because you can't find him…aren't you supposed to be the ones who know where he is?"

She had a point there. Everything was chaos now. "Mrs. Cassidy, I'm sorry to worry you like this" Olivia said softly. "But you've helped us a great deal."

She shook her head. "I told him to get out of there, I said it didn't matter about his pension, he needs to find a different job where he doesn't have to hide his existence from everyone and I don't have to lie when someone comes asking. What kind of life is that? And he talks to me like I'm crazy for suggesting it and laughs it off."

Olivia felt a surge of pity for her in her worry about her son, needing to wait around and see him whenever he got in touch for years on end. Did Cassidy realise how lucky he was? He was loved. "I'm sure he's fine. I will let you know as soon as we've made contact." She pulled out her card, handing it to Mrs. Cassidy. "Will you call us when you hear from him?"

* * *

[What the hell, Liv…scaring my mom like that?!] He was pissed enough to break the silence, probably by virtue of a hysterical phone call. She couldn't recall the last time she had felt this relieved.

[Sorry, I had to. Good to hear from you.]

When no reply came, her fingers were itching to type more and ask questions, but that went against the rules and was dangerous besides. It was clear that any secret meetings were off the table here. With the discovery of the bugs inside Ganzel's apartment, he would not take his eyes off his security man for a minute, a security man who was either terrible at his job or who was clearly working for the other side. The only way to get in touch with Cassidy was by actually meeting Ganzel and him, and the only way to do that was if he gave them a reason. If one good thing had come out of this crazy Amaro-waving-his-gun-around scenario, it was the knowledge that Ganzel had been the last person Carissa had talked to that night. The man was implicated in his fiancé's murder, and she just wished that Cassidy had actually volunteered this information to them, that he had thought about its ramifications for once rather than about his own operation. She couldn't shake the sense that he was fooling himself about the uncontrollable nature of his precarious relationship with his boss, being too caught up in that network. He was holding back information on a man who had possibly killed his own girlfriend. It was like he couldn't see the bigger picture, but then, that was exactly what he accused them of, too. They needed to get both Delia and Ganzel, and soon. But for now, they needed to somehow make him see the benefits of keeping Cassidy around and trusting his advice.

[Be safe.]

* * *

"You need to end this." She touched his hand. When would he get it into his head?

"Liv, I put in three years, I'm not pulling out now. You want to help me, you tell your idiot partner to keep it in his pants."

"I already did. Look, he's under a lot of pressure." Clearly, that was the wrong argument to use.

"And I'm not? Come on, Liv, Ganzel goes on a paranoid coke binge and butch boy pulls a gun on me with my mom-"

"It's taken care of." He needed to stop focusing on all that stuff and get his priorities straight. Amaro wasn't going to pull the trigger.

"Something going on between you two?"

"Don't be an ass-" She turned as Ganzel walked past, clapping Cassidy's shoulder.

"You two need a room?"

Cassidy put his cool voice back on. "No, we're all good, thrilled, boss."

That was the part she would remember in great, orderly detail later on, as a nice sequence of dialogue. She recalled the feeling that went along with it, too, her moderate annoyance that he wouldn't listen to her. She remembered wondering if Ganzel's ID alone was good enough, and how Delia would make sure to get that one thrown out. It was the part that came after, once they had exited the building, that was fuzzier in her mind. It wasn't that she couldn't recall the details. The details were all there as a flood of sounds and images - the face of the kid jacking the car, the guns being drawn, her preoccupation with getting the kid gangster, the "you back off or I'll shoot him", the bike, the sirens (oh, too fast), "drop the gun", the shrill voice of the young uni, "I'm on the job", "I'm on the job", and so many guns, holding up her hands, "get back", the sound of the shots, oh God, oh God… It was ordering the details, keeping the sequence of who and what and when straight that was hard, that was vital for IAB. She rehearsed the story in her mind, trying to create a narrative without distorting, but it made no sense. Because most of all, she remembered the blood seeping through her hands.


	4. Regret

_Author's Note:__ Thank you so much for the reviews and the silent "favourites" and "alerts"! If you're too shy to review, please don't be, but it's also nice to know by way of the silent responses that I'm not just writing this for myself. A bit of a warning here: This obviously has the hospital as a setting and the getting shot part probably wasn't that pleasant for anyone involved so, you know…maybe skip this one if you don't want to read about hospitals. And I promise Nick will be back next chapter. _

* * *

Munch kept his hand clasped around her arm again. She wished he would just get off her. "Come on, you need to wash your hands."

"I need to stay in case…" She couldn't finish that sentence. The paramedics had rushed Cassidy into the first examination room without another word, probably to try and keep him from dying again. She couldn't see it from here.

"We're not going to find out anything within the next five minutes" Harris stated, hovering around the edges of her vision uninvited.

Munch had to have ushered her towards the bathrooms at some point, because suddenly, they were right in front of the green door with the female symbol on it, and he was holding it open for her.

"Women's restroom" she snapped at him so he wouldn't get any ideas about going in there with her.

Her hands felt slick, warm and slick and oh God, she could _smell_ the blood. She turned on the tap with her elbow and water streamed out, taking a second to get warm. The moment she held her hands under it, the liquid turned a pale pink sort of shade, spinning around in the sink until it ran down the drain. She could suddenly feel herself retching as she saw the blood thinning like that, and it was a good thing she hadn't eaten in hours because she could feel the bitterness rising in her mouth until she spat it out. She was making a mess of this sink, and she probably wasn't even supposed to do this in here for safety reasons because of HIV and whatnot. She deliberately focused on the physical movement, getting the soap –or what she thought was soap when she accidentally splashed herself with disinfectant- and rubbing her hands like she had been taught a million years ago at some sort of hygiene safety seminar where the light had shown them all the places they hadn't cleaned properly. The edges of the fingernails were dangerous, as was the region between the fingers, the underside of the nails. She needed to get the blood off properly, but there had been so much of it, too much, and how much blood loss could a person survive again?

Not "a person", Brian Cassidy. The image kept replaying in her mind, her trying to staunch the blood flow with her hands, providing some pathetic attempt at first aid and _"you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay, help is coming, you're gonna be okay"_. He had looked so terrified. She leaned against the sink for a moment, seeing a blurred image of herself in the mirror. In a moment, she would have to go out and find out what was going on before facing IAB. If he was… She wiped her eyes, her hands still dripping with moisture, but it was pointless and no amount of paper towels could fix this mess. _"Don't be an ass."_ She had been the ass all those years ago, keeping him at arm's length without explaining really where she was coming from. Things had been so messed up back then, and now she couldn't even remember why, and then he'd left. And now? And now he had taken two bullets, and she hadn't seen it coming.

* * *

She had returned to the hospital once she had been done with IAB, who had actually had the gall to make her wait after calling her away from the ER, and Harris, who had held her up unnecessarily, to find Munch still sitting in that awful plastic chair, leaning forward on his elbows. His posture had made it impossible to gauge what was going on. He had risen from his seat as she approached him. "Liv-"

"How is he?"

"Just out of surgery. He's in the ICU."

"What did the doctor say? Is he gonna be okay?"

"He's lost a lot of blood, but it was a fairly clean shot so they were able to patch him up; they didn't have to remove the spleen, which is good news. There's still an increased risk of infection and they'll have to see how the night goes but-"

"Munch! Is he going to make it?"

"The doctor said it's looking good."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Looking good" was too vague for her; she needed probabilities, percentages. 70% looking good that he would survive, 92% looking good that he would make a full recovery, what? If the words "out of critical condition" hadn't been used, "looking good" meant nothing. "But he's in the ICU?"

"He just got out of surgery." That didn't mean anything to her, because she had lost all sense of time. "Look, he's tough, he's gonna be okay."

She allowed herself to feel a little relieved and exhale a little more deeply. Munch being here to hold down the fort helped. "Yeah."

"How did things go with IAB?"

"Oh" she gave him a dismissive wave. "There's no way we can leave it to them, even Harris agrees on that. They'll rule it a bad shooting, but the uni will take the fall and that will be it for them." Her head was still swarming with the weird sequence of events, the obvious set-up that troubled her at least as much as Ganzel showing up at the hospital to make sure Cassidy actually died, then acting like he was making sure he didn't.

Munch nodded, and she was glad she didn't need to explain all this to him or persuade him in any way. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Fin will look into the carjacking, and I told everyone we're inofficially meeting at the bar at 12pm to regroup. But let's try not to arrive all at once."

"12pm" she repeated hollowly.

"Okay. Look, it's been a long day, how about I give you a ride home?"

"No, thanks."

"Liv, you can't do anything here. You're not family, so you can't go in there and he's not even awake."

"I know. Just go ahead, John, I'll go home in a moment, promise."

"All right" he sighed, squeezing her shoulder.

That was how she had ended up in this position, alone on the other side of the glass pane of an ICU room that she wasn't allowed to enter, that she wasn't sure she wanted to enter. Somehow, she had lost her sense of time again, because she didn't know if she had been standing here for two minutes or half an hour. There were so many tubes, wires and monitors, so much fluorescent lighting that it was impossible to tell the time of day in here. One of the monitors showed a twitchy, angling green line with peaks and bottoms. It was his pulse made visible, and watching it reassured her, because it was evidence that he was still there and wasn't simply disappearing on her like he had in that ambulance. Still, he looked so pale with his eyes closed, the oxygen mask covering his face.

The worst part, however, was the fact that his mother was sitting in a chair by his bedside, unable to stay still. She would fidget, get up and sit down again, smooth the sheet unnecessarily, find reasons to touch her son. She didn't talk. She cried from time to time, but she rarely sobbed, the tears flowing down her worn face in silence. It was wrong to watch her, Olivia knew, to intrude on this private moment, and she would stop in a minute, but she had a responsibility to see this and face the consequences of their actions. It could have been her getting shot, and who would have been affected by that? The squad, for sure, but no one like that. Not an older woman who was sitting here on her own without any social support. She desperately wanted to tell this woman how sorry she was about everything, about lying to her about not worrying, about not protecting her son, but that was a selfish wish born out of an irrational need for forgiveness. So she stood here, watching Mrs. Cassidy like a creep and at some point, her own tears began to match the woman's. At the end of the day, it didn't matter anymore.

And then the woman looked up. That wasn't supposed to happen. She looked up, and although she was looking straight at her, seeing her, there was a blank expression on her face.

* * *

"Ganzel? But Ganzel paid for these flowers, he paid for this room." It was as if a part of him refused to believe that this pimp, this human scum, wasn't really his friend. This had never been a real relationship.

"Cassidy, Ganzel made you." He winced in pain as she sat down on his bed. "You okay?" She reached across him, touching his arm.

"Yeah, but I mean, can you blame the guy? I mean, really, those bugs." That obviously justified a hit.

"You should have told faster." She stroked his forehead.

"No way. She would have just pulled me in, and then what? I go back to investigating…dry cleaner break-ins? I'm like you, Liv" He arched his back, desperately trying to get more comfortable. "-this job is the only thing I got." The way he said it, biting his lip, broke her heart. She understood where he was coming from completely, but it was the place she was trying so hard to leave behind.

"I'm not who I used to be."

He cocked his head. "Sure you are."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not." She did the only thing that came to mind, leaning in and kissing him. Because life was too short.

"That was nice." For the first time, he smiled, and it felt like warm summer rain on her skin. He was looking so much better.

"Something about a man in a hospital bed."

"Okay, Florence Nightingale."

She kissed him again, acting on instinct without thinking too hard about it. It felt right, therefore it was right. This was easier than putting all that messed up stuff in her head into words. His lips were dry. It was a chaste kiss, but lingering in that surreal moment of present and past, the present day conflated with those kisses from so long ago, when they had been different people.

He tensed up again, and she pulled back a little, seeing his face twist in pain. "You know, you probably shouldn't suffocate me this quickly after saving my life. Mixed messages and all."

"Sorry." She got up from the bed, but he caught her wrist. "Hey. S'okay."

"Yeah. But I need to get back to the precinct" she sighed, "to keep Ganzel from finishing his job." Her own words gave her the creeps.


	5. Transgression

Somehow, she had become the errand girl to run back and forth between the hospital and the precinct whenever they needed more information. Maybe whoever Cassidy had been investigating for should just come and get the full story.

"What's up?" He could apparently mind read that this wasn't a friendly visit.

She took her time arranging the flowers in a vase, or rather, an empty jar. "So Ganzel and Barry told an interesting story about you that throws a new light on motive." She turned around to observe his reaction, and from the embarassed half-smile-half-frown, she knew immediately that it was true. It fit so perfectly; it was the puzzle piece that was missing.

"Yeah….knew that would come out sooner or later…"

"Don't make me ask the question." She was tired of teasing information out of him bit by bit.

"Yeah. Carissa and I had…I guess you could call it an affair."

"You guess? Was it an affair, or not?" She attempted to sound factual in her assessment.

He glanced up at the ceiling. "Yes."

"I need rough dates. When did it start, how often…"And boy did she not want to know.

"Around Christmas, I…yeah, Christmas Eve. More than a few times."

It wasn't a complete surprise, and she could just imagine Nick's smug face at finding out about this, but it was a disappointment. Not because he had acted a bit unprofessionally in these crazy stressful three years –her investigation into the other UC investigations into Delia made this look fairly mild, and long- but because Carissa had been an escort. They hadn't been on equal footing. Because this meant that he had exploited his position with her, and most of all, because he hadn't seemed to care particularly when she had been murdered. Carissa wasn't important as a person.

"And when you were together, what did you talk about? Did she give you any information?"

"Loads. On Ganzel, on the inside workings of his business, his enemies, what his plans were…but not what I needed."

"She mention setting up Cragen?"

"No! I told you that, I never knew that was going to happen."

She didn't say anything in response. She wanted to believe him, but he wasn't exactly the most trustworthy person right now, and he had been holding out on them.

"Liv" he implored her, "you have to believe me, I swear, I knew nothing about the murders, about the Governor and Cragen. It sounds just like the sort of fucked up shit Ganzel got her into, but I knew nothing about it. She probably knew she couldn't trust me with that. I never gave you all the information, but I didn't give you false information…intentionally."

"Okay."

"I was…the whole thing was a huge mistake. I tried to end it, but she was always threatening to tell Ganzel even though she knew how dangerous that would have been for her and-"

"That was actually all the questions I had; we just needed the confirmation. You should save the rest for IAB." She didn't need to hear the details.

"Shit" he muttered, as if the fact that his actions had consequences had only just occurred to him. "I get that you're pissed."

"Why didn't you _tell_ anyone? She threatened to tell Ganzel, and you told us Delia killed her, how does that even make sense?" It wasn't just a lapse of judgement; it was a series of lapses that had nearly gotten him killed.

"I didn't think she would. The thing you need to understand about Carissa is-"

She turned away, shaking her head. She did not need one more man explaining Carissa to her.

"-she was terrified of people abandoning her, of not being the top girl. So she would do whatever it took; she made Ganzel think he was 'rescuing' her from Delia and then whenever Ganzel went crazy on drugs she'd come crying to me about it and-"

"She was an escort, Cassidy, in an abusive relationship."

"Exactly, and I felt sorry for her so I'd sit with her and we'd talk and I'd try to get her to leave the business, but we were always turning in circles….and I think she knew, you know, I think she guessed that I was still a cop but she never said a word about it because…she scared me sometimes with how good she was at…never mind, let's just say she knew how to work people."

"Really? She 'made you do it'?" Victim blaming at its finest. She turned back to face him, her hands on her hips.

"No, that's not what I'm saying! I messed up, okay? But just ask Amaro-"

"Amaro didn't sleep with Carissa while investigating her pimp slash fiancé." It sounded like a crazy bad idea as she said it out loud.

"I know, it's bad. That part wasn't supposed to happen." No shit. "Look, at the end of the day, Carissa was a victim, first of her parents, then Delia's property, then Ganzel's, and we kind of talked and I wanted to be there for her and I think she misunderstood that. Because guys weren't generally nice to her. I just wanted to help her."

"With your penis?" God, did all men have to have some sort of "rescuing the abused girl" fantasy? Was that what made them want to work in law enforcement in the first place? They would be better than the bad guys, they would be gentle and slow and when they finally had sex with her, a single tear would roll down her cheek and they would kiss it away. She could just picture it, the lone wolf undercover cop and the escort, like in a bad novel or porn. Carissa knew that; Cassidy should have known better. Period.

"No, that part was me being an asshole. I was lonely and she was the only one who kind of guessed who I was, and I took advantage. There's no excuse for that." He was firm on this part, and she was glad that he at least owned up to it. But that was a small point of gladness in there. He had been perfectly happy not mentioning it himself.

"She told Ganzel she was in love with you and would leave him for you."

He grimaced at that and shifted his position slightly, and she wasn't sure if it was from physical discomfort or from what she had just shared. "I had no idea. She was always telling me how in love she was with Ganzel."

"She might have been trying to hurt his feelings, or…" She trailed off, not wanting to find explanations for this.

"I didn't want to…take advantage of her or anything. I wasn't looking at it like that. I wanted her to realise there are people out there who would treat her better and…it was stupid."

"Yeah." Stupid and inappropriate, and she could so see how it had happened. It was good intentions gone bad, boundaries blurring, playing the part a bit too much in a very messed up operation.

"I'm sorry she died. I'm sorry…if this is what got her murdered…" For the first time, he looked legitimately upset. "I wanted her to get out of there and start a new life. I didn't want her to get killed."

* * *

"Nick", she caught him on his way out of the building, falling into step beside him, "hey."

"Hey." He stopped in his tracks, and a moment of awkward silence passed between them. "How's Cassidy?" That daily question was always his version of "sorry, let's be on the same side again".

"Much better. How are you?" she asked cautiously.

His jaw tensed at the question as he averted his gaze. "I'm okay. I don't wanna talk about it. No offence."

"None taken. But we'll have to talk about…other things…at some point."

"When this is over. When we get Cragen's charges dropped and Delia off the street, when…just not right now." He wanted their normal life back just as much as her.

"Okay." She nodded, putting her hands into her jacket pocket. _"That could have been you that got shot. We all gotta watch each others' backs."_ Amanda was right. At this moment, they needed to hold it together and not dive into the deep end. "So you think Foster's good for this?"

"I mean, it makes sense. The way the investigations never went anywhere, the missing money…her kid. Things are different when you have a kid, and I can't imagine being in that kind of situation."

She shook her head. "Having a kid doesn't justify everything."

"No, that's not what I meant. It just establishes motive here."

"Yeah. I mean we got the evidence, the offshore account, the money, I guess I'm just wondering if it's solid. If she's the only one involved." She was trying, rather poorly, to communicate to Nick that she valued his opinion on this.

"If we make the arrest, will it go away again, that sort of thing? Or more…dead bodies showing up in our beds." He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Delia's one scary player."

"But we have to make a move now to clear Cragen. I don't think he can do this much longer."

"It would be best if Foster confessed to it. She might, to you, you guys have a rapport. And I'm thinking she's been holding all this inside for so long, having the sole responsibility for her daughter, all these ethical dilemmas…I'm thinking part of her wants to tell someone about it, to explain herself."

He could be right about that. It was her gut feeling, and if Nick shared it, that usually meant there was something to it. "This won't go over easily. You know, in a weird way…as much as I want to get her off the street, I don't like doing this to her daughter."

"Yeah, it's hard. But thinking about the dead girl in Cragen's bed should make it easier. She brought this on herself, Liv. It's like you said, having a kid doesn't justify everything." His expression grew distant as he watched the cars passing by, and she could guess what he was thinking about.

"Nick, I really am sorry about Maria and Zara."

He gave her a stiff nod. "I know."

* * *

_Author's Note:__ Sooo what do you think? This basically takes us up to almost the end of the episode "Above Suspicion". Should I continue beyond that to cover that summer we never got to see? Or not? Any suggestions/criticisms/wishes?_


	6. Dependency

_Author's Note:__ So even before you answered the question at the end of last chapter, I cheated and decided to continue this story for a bit further…maybe. :D Crazy lady updates twice in a day, because I decided to split the chapter so they would be more even in length. I figured some of the interesting stuff would have happened off screen after those actual episodes. So this is post-Season 14 premiere. Also, this chapter includes a little hidden shout-out to someone, although I'm not sure she'll appreciate that one. :D_

* * *

"I do_ not_ need help."

"Oh yeah? Let's see you take off that shirt." She crossed her arms, stepping back from him. She knew it was some sort of wounded male pride thing, but she felt like she was fighting a two-year-old on every point.

He winced in pain, as he still barely managed to lift his arms. "I think I'm just gonna walk around bare-chested in future."

"Good plan." She was still wondering how on earth anyone had managed to get that shirt on without inflicting substantial pain on him. It was too tight. He should clearly stick to very loose shirts with buttons on them from now on. She moved in, determined, and very cautiously tried to lift the fabric bit by bit to avoid it getting caught in the bandages.

"This would be…ah…so sexy under different circumstances" he said in a strained voice, struggling not to cry out.

"Sorry…" It slipped out every time she was obviously hurting him.

"Stop apologizing, damn it" he grumbled. He hated this, really, really hated this. She was trying not to make it too embarrassing for him, and in her book, there was nothing embarrassing about it, but there was no way of denying the fact that he would be a little dependent on help for a while. And dependency was not cool, especially not around someone you had just met again for the first time in twelve, 13 years.

Her breath caught involuntarily when she saw the thick layer of bandages, and it registered again just how close they were to his heart and a bunch of other vital organs. _The blood seeping through her fingers. _

"Jesus, you're not gonna cry again, are you?"

"Once, Cassidy, that happened once and you weren't even conscious." Asshole.

"First I have to convince my mom she doesn't need to help her 40-something-year-old son dress himself, and now it turns out you do."

She didn't know why he was making such a big deal of this. It was the first time she was visiting him at the cave he called his home, the evening after his mom had picked him up from hospital, once she had finally left and he had texted her that the coast was clear. She was glad to be of practical help. "You know I'd do anything to get your shirt off."

He grinned slightly at that, visibly grateful at the humour. "Thanks, by the way."

* * *

The second she got the call, she knew something was wrong. First of all, there was the fact that he was calling her when he knew she was probably still at work, and second of all, it was the weak sound of his voice that scared her.

"So I'm an idiot."

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"I…yeah, I…I don't know…"

Fear clutched at her throat. "Where are you?" Fin glanced up from his paperwork at the only other desk that was still occupied.

"In my bathroom. It's okay, I think I must have…passed out in the shower or something." He sounded confused.

"Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?" At least he had had the sense to take his phone into the bathroom with him.

"No, no, I swear I don't. I just…fuck, this is embarrassing…I'm just a bit dizzy and I don't want a repeat…but I don't need a doctor, forget it. I'll call Ray."

"Stay there, don't move." She got up from her chair, slipping her jacket onto one arm and grabbing her bag. "I'm on my way."

"What's going on?" Fin asked the second she had hung up.

"Cassidy" she conceded in passing. "Don't mention this to anyone though, okay?"

"You got it."

The drive to his apartment was filled with a mixture of relief that he trusted her enough to call her, that he had even given her a key to his apartment "just in case" because his buddy Ray wasn't "always good with that stuff"(which had made her a bit sad about the state of his friendships), and anger on the other hand that he had been stupid enough to decide on his first full day out of hospital that he was ready to take a shower while on his own. Wasn't that nurse who came around supposed to help him with that stuff? How exactly was it that she had become the first person to be contacted in an emergency? She had never had a key to anyone's place.

However, all the anger, the "you need to stop being too proud to accept help" speech she had mentally prepared, went out the window when she used that key for the first time, stepping into the apartment with uncertainty what she would find. Her anxiety grew with each step, and she was glad that he at least answered when she knocked on the bathroom door as a warning, opening it carefully.

He was sitting in his bathtub in an awkward, hunched position, appearing to disappear in it. She could see the arch of his spine, his vertebrae sticking out, the pallor of his skin. He did not look like himself. He wasn't himself, and it immediately hit her that this _was_ the kind of emergency where you were beyond caring who you called.

"Hey." She entered as calmly as she could manage, handing him a towel so he could cover himself, more for his benefit than anything.

"Hey…sorry…" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"What did you do?" She crouched down next to him, putting one hand on his shoulder. His eyes looked glassy.

"I don't know. Things went…black and then…the water. I don't know." The floor of the bathtub was wet, but the water wasn't running anymore. His skin felt cold underneath her fingers, so she grabbed another towel from the rack beside the sink and wrapped it around his shoulders as best as she could.

"Did you hit your head?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Brian." She ran one hand over his forehead, brushing back his wet hair. He didn't feel like he had a fever. Then she noticed the half-assed job he had made of trying to wrap his torso and abdomen in something –clingfilm?- which had bunched up rather than flatly covering the bandages and tape, which were probably wet now. She had no idea how he had even managed that. Next, she saw the dark red spot at his side, which definitely had not been there the previous day. It wasn't huge, but light enough to be fresh, and covered in wet, sticky clingfilm which wouldn't be easy to get off.

"I just need a minute…" he mumbled absent-mindedly.

"Hey, you don't look so great, so I'm gonna call an ambulance."

"No! I don't need-"

"I think your stitches have opened, you need a doctor."

"Please-"

She ignored his protests, taking out her cell and dialing without any further hesitation. If it was excessive, if this was only a regular doctor type of situation, then too bad, that was on her. She wasn't willing to risk it, and he did look damn awful, so awful she couldn't even get mad at his carelessness. His protest was feeble, anyway, and that was the scariest part.

"Hey, Liv" he said weakly as they waited. "You're not doing this out of…some weird guilt thing, are you?"

"I don't know what you mean" she lied. "Don't talk, it's better if you-"

"'cause don't. Please don't."

"_Get back, Liv, get back."_ The bullets could have hit either one of them so easily. There was nothing she could have done to keep Gonzalez from shooting, other than shoot Gonzalez herself, and that was never going to happen. She knew that. Then why did it feel like this was all her fault? "It doesn't matter. You're gonna be okay. Everything will be fine."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I'm so sorry-"

"Shh." She touched his shoulder again. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

[How are things?]

[I'm still alive, miraculously. The same as two hours ago.] Okay, so her frequent check-ups on him were pretty transparent, but he just needed to deal with that after the previous day. Regular Cassidy had somehow forgotten all about bathtub Cassidy, at least from the way he was acting. It was reassuring. She didn't need anything weird between them.

[What are you up to?]

[Thinking about taking a shower…]

[…]

[Too soon?]

[NOT FUNNY.]

[Trying to read a newspaper because that's what regular adults do. It's boring.]

[Try one with cartoons in it next time.]

[What's a pre-industrial form of agricultural production? 11 letters, stx in the middle]

[Do I look like a dictionary? Stx seems unlikely.]

[What are you up to?]

[Paperwork. Just as boring. Need to do all of it today and probably working some of the weekend…]

[Bummer.]

[I know. Need Cragen back so bad. Harris actually cares about turning stuff in on time.]

[Ha, documentation. Clearly overrated.]

[Sarcasm doesn't transport well over texts, Cassidy.]

[Cassidy? I thought we were finally on a first name basis.]

[Keep dreaming.]

* * *

"She just won't leave, cleaning my place, buying me stuff." He was leaning against the counter, exhausted from walking around his apartment for a bit.

"That awful woman" she concurred sarcastically. "How dare she."

"I just feel bad; I don't want her to make such a fuss. It's like she's afraid if she doesn't come by every single day, I'm gonna drop dead or something."

"Can you seriously blame her for that?" Sometimes, she felt an urge to smack him. She knew that this was just him venting about how much he hated this slow recovery process, and she realized how hard it must be for him to be stuck at home every single day instead of working undercover to expose the city's biggest prostitution ring. This had to be a hardcore adjustment for him. So yes, it was understandable that he was getting antsy and wanted to get his life back, that he was grumpy and miserable and in pain, and she was supposed to be compassionate about it. If only he would shut up about his mom, who was clearly just trying to take care of her son.

"No, but it always comes with endless guilt trips about how I brought this on myself, and that I really need to quit my job."

"You nearly _died_. This is her worst nightmare. If you don't want her to be clingy, don't get yourself shot." She turned away from him, and she knew she was being unfair. He hadn't exactly signed up for this. She opened the old-fashioned curtains to let some light into this hole of darkness. It was almost summer, and some air was needed in here.

"Hey" he responded more softly than expected. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking…your mom…"

She closed her eyes. "Oh, no, it's not that." She turned around again, trying to smile but she got the awful feeling that this was pretty much turning into the opposite of a smile, judging from the string she felt in her eyes. "Just don't almost die again, okay?"

He approached her slowly, putting his hands on her upper arms. "I didn't. I'm okay." Then, he did the sweetest thing and leaned in, kissing her forehead.

A tearful laugh escaped her mouth, and she didn't know why.


	7. Inertia

_Author's Note:__ Credit for the entire first paragraph pretty much goes to the lovely lucyspencer due to her detailed research when my internet was down! __ Thanks! Also, thank you so much for all the love! I really, really appreciate any feedback. Seriously, try me, flame me – but not on the grounds of weather description ;) . Or, you know, love is also appreciated, even if it's repeated. _

* * *

The first few weeks of that summer passed by painfully slowly. Day followed on endless day at the office, listening to Munch playing boss and everyone else bickering behind his back. Tensions were running high as they were busier than usual and no one got any time off while their squad was under constant scrutiny, as Munch liked to remind them: "Big brother is watching." They had to double check their entire work, because even the appearance of a screw-up would fall back on them. Nick turned progressively more miserable when Zara's departure approached, and just generally did not give off the impression that he wanted to be at work at all. It felt as if summers at SVU were cursed, with the aftermath of the shooting last year and Elliot quitting, and no Cragen this year. She didn't even want to know what next year would hold in store for them. This was the season of extremes, with days spent at the office as the rain drizzled against the windows, followed by a couple of hot weekends out of nowhere when you would rather be lying beside a lake than trying to fight the backlog. On the whole, it wasn't a June of ice cream cones and walks in the park, but of seeking shelter in coffee shops and trying to keep your feet dry on the go.

It wasn't all bad, though. Her visits to Cassidy had quickly become a routine whenever she could make it, so much that she probably spent as much time at his place as she did at her own, neglected apartment. It felt normal and easy, like this was what they had always been doing, and there was no reason to question it because he needed some company. He always tried to play it cool, acting all casual as if it didn't matter to him whether she could make it or not, but she couldn't fail to notice his smile when she arrived or the way he got weirdly quiet when she cancelled. It was easy to see him, easy to talk to him and tell him about Munch's newest crazy idea as if they were old friends. They never talked about Ganzel or Carissa, or Delia's trial. He wasn't part of that life anymore.

Brian had improved steadily, motivated to get healthy and get back on the job as soon as he could. He had made an effort…that was, until recently. Something had begun to wear off once he had discovered that things weren't going fast enough, that not even the investigation into him was moving forward as IAB remained busy with other, more public, scandals. The constant waiting was taking its toll while his future hung in the balance, because three years of material were nothing on five months of messing up big time. Some energy had faded, with him sitting around at home all day as he did without a purpose. His days were losing all structure, and she harboured the suspicion that his nights were pretty sleepless, although he never said a thing about it.

He was sprawled out on the sofa as she let herself in, drinking beer, again. A beer at 4pm always grabbed her attention - one of the virtues of growing up with her mother. "Hey."

"Hey. You could have opened the door for me, you know. Five steps of exercise."

He deliberately didn't respond, and she felt like she was his mom, nagging him. "What are you doing?"

He took a sip of his beer. "Discovering America has turned _stupid_ while I wasn't looking."

"And that's news how?" She shouldn't indulge his rants about the random topic he had decided to care about for the day or they would end up in another stupid argument about Julian Assange. Yesterday, he had suddenly turned himself into an expert on the long-term consequences of the Arab Spring by virtue of Google Scholar, predicting global mayhem.

"First of all, there are no good crime shows anymore. None. They're all overproduced and dramatic, and TV cops are pretentious pricks who wear sunglasses to look like dumbasses. Which makes you wonder: How many of our colleagues really act the way they do because they are imitating the way they think they should act, because that's what a TV cop would do? 'Gonna switch this chair around and sit on it backwards, because it'll look so cool.' No, it won't. Not to mention they walk all over crime scenes, leaving their DNA everywhere, but then go 'ooh, I found a hair!'. A lot of that crap is filmed in blue, dark colours, you know, to give it an air of mystery or whatever. Second of all" and he had clearly thought about this hierarchy, "there are too many reality TV shows, because they are cheap to make. Who wants to see so-called celebrities no one knows traipsing through a jungle eating pig penises? Who?! So you change the channel again, and oh, there are these women's shows for, I don't know what kind of women, about wives swapping homes and buying wedding dresses. So all I can watch are cooking shows, and I don't even cook! I need to start cooking."

"Wow." She flopped down on the couch beside him as he scooted to make room for her. "You've really thought this through. All I got from that was 'start cooking'?" She raised her eyebrows. They had mostly been ordering take-out whenever she had come over for dinner.

"I'm about to become a world class chef."

"Cool." This definitely wasn't the worst idea he had ever had. It was a lot more useful than sitting around all day. Yes, she could see certain advantages to it.

"I'm so bored." He turned off the TV, sliding the remote across the coffee table. "Tell me something interesting, please! You arrest anyone today?"

She couldn't help smiling at that and took his hand, squeezing it. "I did, actually! A real, wife-beating, rapist asshole." It had been a good day, one she was able to finish early for once because she had been called in at 5am. She was exhausted in a good way.

"You even make working SVU sound attractive again."

"Have you been outside today at all?"

"No. Had no reason to."

"Well, see, maybe you should. Go outside, see other people than wife swappers and dumbass cops with sunglasses. It can do wonders."

"What's the point?"

"No deep questions, please. It's been a long day." She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the lips to shut him up.

He smiled as she lingered close by, studying her face. "Hi."

"So let's get some fresh air." She put her hand on his thigh. She didn't feel much like going anywhere, but it was the sensible thing to do on a gorgeous day such as this. It was healthy and mood improving, and it went without saying that he would never be declared fit for duty if he spent all day doing nothing.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but we live in the city."

"No excuses, we should go out more."

"Or not" he replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He reached up, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek in the process.

She knew what he was thinking, but no way, no fucking way was that going to happen right now. It was not a good idea to complicate things. They were friends who saw each other all the time and sometimes ended up making out on the couch, a strictly high school affair that was in no way detrimental to anyone's health. She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, because she actually cared about him and she wouldn't ruin that. After David, her next relationship was always going to be outside law enforcement, she had sworn to herself, and a casual affair with someone she cared about wasn't her thing. He had just gotten out of a long, messy undercover stint, where he had ended up hooking up with an escort, and that was not a good place to be in to fall for someone simply because they were the only person who ever came round your place besides your mom and your slightly antisocial friend Ray. She didn't want whatever this was to be all about that misery. "Let's go for a walk."

* * *

He poured her some tea after proudly announcing that it was a rare Turkish spice mixture, which she gladly accepted because it gave her hands something to do. She stirred the dark liquid unnecessarily, and the sound of the spoon touching the pretty, flowered china cup filled the momentary silence. It struck her how everything about this patio could be summed up under the word "pretty", from the filigree white garden furniture to the ivy that climbed the wooden partitions, providing them with shade. "Your garden looks very nice."

"Oh, the flower beds are overgrown and the lawn really needs mowing. I just haven't gotten around to it yet. The garden was really Marge's domain. I don't think I've spent this much time in it in years."

Pity filled her at his words. She hated the idea of her Captain stuck at home, faced with constant reminders of his deceased wife and the retired life he might have shared with her. It was hard to picture him kneeling in the flower beds, but then, the past couple of months had been filled with seeing him out of context, and an orange jumpsuit had definitely been worse than this.

He had to have picked up on her sentiment, because he gave her a small smile. "It's very kind of you to visit, Liv. But please don't feel obligated."

"You are missed" she assured him tenderly. "Amaro, Rollins, Munch, even Fin, they all said to tell you that. Munch promised never to give you a hard time again now that he's seen how much work your job is. Any word on when we'll finally get you back?"

He sighed, which further enhanced the stoop of his shoulders. He had aged over the past few weeks. "That is up to the powers that be. At this point, there is no guarantee that they will put me in command again, let alone in the same position."

She shook her head, refusing to accept this as the final word on the matter. Donald Cragen had been her boss for the past 13 years, an SVU without him was unimaginable. Every void could be filled somehow, but it was hard to imagine anyone filling this void adequately. Who would keep their close-knit group in check, commanding the necessary respect? Their close-knit group which had already undergone so much transformation over the past year that she had started to feel like a relic from a different era… Change could work, but just like Nick had not simply replaced Elliot as if the two were interchangeable, no one would be able to fill Cragen's shoes. "All those years, that must count for something."

"All it takes is one slip."

And it was escorts, always escorts. She really didn't get it. Thinking about Brian and Carissa was disappointing enough, although it was somehow more fitting, but her boss with prostitutes was a mental image she didn't need. There was something very off about wanting to purchase not only sex, but companionship. "I hope they make up their minds soon."

"Me too. I'm not ready to retire yet, although I will one day, and that day is approaching faster than I would like." He looked at her pensively, as if he were deliberating something.

"Stop. You're not retired yet."

"If there's one thing I've realized, though, it's just how close I came to sliding down a very steep slope again. I have spent a large part of my life making bad choices. And one day, the things that have kept me…on track…will be gone. It will just be me in this house."

Just him. Just her, one day, alone with no more emergency contact. "You have friends" she told him, trying to convince herself.

He smiled ruefully. "Something has to change. And that won't happen overnight, that takes more effort than contacting an escort hotline. A word of advice, Liv, if I'm still permitted to give you advice-"

"Always."

"-don't let the job become everything. Because one day, it won't be enough, and you will still have to go home. You are more than the sum of the arrests you make."


	8. Redemption

_Author's Note:__ I have had part of this chapter written for a while. This one needs a "fluffiness alert" on it where I break my promise not to get too romantic a little bit. Although it is Bensidy, so don't expect Valentine's Day cards and roses. I promise things won't stay fluffy for too long because that cloud has got to go. ;) Feedback appreciated, as always!_

* * *

At the beginning of The Thing, they had only ever spent time at his apartment, for obvious reasons. Now, she saw no reason for this anymore, since he was perfectly capable of making the trip to her place, not to mention that her apartment was nicer and had significantly less glass furniture that you could bump into. One journey home at the end of the day was quite enough, and it wasn't like he was on his feet all day. Of course, whenever she had actually suggested this, his wounds had conveniently acted up again, because damn it, he was good at milking this "I got shot!" pity thing.

So when he suggested out of the blue that he could come over and practice his newfound cooking skills on her ([just cooking, no ulterior motive, I swear]), she wasn't averse to the idea, except that she had been planning on a quiet evening at home and had already showered and changed into some ancient sweatpants that she wasn't quite ready for him to see yet, her hair up in a loose bun. She just about had time to change into jeans and a figure-hugging black top before the doorbell rang, and he came equipped with groceries as if he had been planning on travelling to some sort of deprived desert. It turned out his good mood sprang from a rather positive doctor's appointment, which had confirmed that he was well on his way to healing fully. The next hour was filled with, well, interesting smells and sounds as he assured her that he could do this, that he didn't need help, that this amount of smoke was normal while he was "deglazing" the meat, that he only had to orient himself in her sparse kitchen, and why on earth did she have 15 glasses but no wok?

She leaned against the fridge, watching him talk himself through every step of what looked like a pretty complicated recipe, and a surprisingly fuzzy sort of comfort filled her empty stomach. This was _nice_. Not "nice, considering…" but nice without qualifiers.

"You want a taste?" he asked with a proud grin on his face, holding up a spoon with his hand underneath to prevent spillage.

"Sure." She came forward and let him move the spoon to her lips. It was piping hot, a little on the sour side, but fairly tasty.

"It's good!"

"Love the sound of surprise."

"Hey, this is a move up from fishfingers." The boiling, sizzling, frying pots all around smelled delicious, and she was actually getting really hungry just looking at it.

"I finally figured out that you can make any sauce taste good by just adding tons of wine to it."

"Sounds about right." She remembered she had forgotten to put serving utensils out, and grabbed some from the drawer to set them on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him freeze mid-movement, pressing one hand against his side. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"You shouldn't have carried all that stuff around." He was always either under- or overdoing it, sitting around all day or having crazy spurs of exercise whenever he decided he had lost too much muscle mass.

"I'm fine." He straightened up a little, removing his hand.

She came up behind him, wrapping her arm around the other, his good side and planting a kiss on his shoulder blade before peeking around at the pots. "Looks about ready."

"Yep." They simply moved the pots to the table, too impatient to wait any longer, but ended up walking back and forth a few times because they had always forgotten something. When they finally sat down, and just as she was about to move the first fork of food to her mouth, he cried "stop" again and asked her if she had any candles.

"Candles? Really? Can we not just eat already?"

"You need to create an atmosphere." Yep, he had definitely been watching too much TV. But he was also making an effort here, so fair enough.

"I have no idea where my nice ones are, but I have tea lights." She went to grab them from the kitchen drawer, rummaging around for matches.

"I have a lighter." She didn't want to know why. He lit several of the plain candles and spread them around the table before dimming her lights.

"Smooth." He was pretty good at this whole romance thing. Somehow, that did not surprise her in the least. Her small apartment appeared cozy rather than messy now and immediately, edges blurred in the candle light, faces softened, the mood calmed down.

He smiled at her in that winning way, his eyes shining in the semi-darkness. "You look different today."

"It's called not wearing make-up. You should try it sometime."

"I meant in a nice way."

Smooth again. "Thanks. Okay, let's eat. It smells amazing."

They finished about half their dinner talking about nothing of substance, until he finally opened his mouth to tell her that the date had been set for his formal IAB hearing. He mentioned it in passing, as if he were sneaking an extra side dish onto the table.

"The 23rd? Of this month? That's soon!"

"I know."

"Are you prepared? I still think you should get representation, just in case."

"I'm on it."

"So you'll do it? Tomorrow?" How could he be so calm about this? This wasn't the time to act aloof. This meeting would determine the future of his career, provided he still had one after the 23rd.

"Yeah, I will." He pushed his food around his plate, and those green beans sure seemed to be drawing a lot of his attention.

"Make sure you mention the part where you got shot trying to complete this job for them a lot."

"Really?" he muttered grimly. "'cause I had almost forgotten about that."

"Don't go into a huge story trying to justify your actions, just stick to the questions."

"Yeah, I'm a cop, too, you know." He put down his fork and pushed his plate away.

"I know, but when you're involved-"

"Can we please stop talking about this?"

* * *

They didn't talk. Not the next day, either, nor the day after that, and when she asked him about his representation the next time she saw him, he simply told her that he had taken care of it and that he needed her to stop pressuring him. The impending hearing clearly had to be weighing on him, but he stubbornly refused to talk about it as if that would make it go away. So they didn't. They were good at this not talking thing. It was just that she hated that she was the one who was worried about this, when it was his career on the line. That little cloud of pretend ignorance they were floating around on threatened to dissipate any minute, but for now, she could play this game. They watched TV, they went to the park, they did just about anything that filled the time. And if it was fun for that moment, then that was a good thing.

"You wanna dance?" The question came out of the blue one evening, the one time they had actually decided to go out in public.

"You can't dance to Bob Marley."

"You can to the chick covering Bob Marley" he retorted with an easy confidence, taking her hand before she could react and leading her to the dance floor, or rather, the darker corner in the room where a handful of people had begun swaying to the music. She didn't dance unless it was at a formal event or something, certainly not willingly, and definitely not in seedy bars where you went when you didn't want to be seen. How did you even dance to a Rastafari song?

"Your injury…" she protested.

"…can survive at this speed." He placed his hands around her waist, then on her lower back in a gentle move, avoiding any place where they really shouldn't be.

She hesitated before wrapping her arms around his neck. This part wasn't awful. She just disliked the actual slow dancing, because there were no set steps or moves to follow. It always felt more like she was simply shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Then there was the matter of eye contact or not, and while you couldn't exactly stare at each other non-stop, not looking at each other at this proximity was weird. She felt sweaty and awkward.

"You don't have to hold your breath, you know." He smiled at her warmly in a way that brought out the lines around his eyes. "Is this okay?"

"Kind of late to ask now." And sweet. Maybe this wasn't so bad. They were doing all right with swaying in the indiscernible rhythm so far and no one's toes had been hurt yet. Brian was actually pretty good at leading and there was even some mild turning action involved. '_Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds.'_ She found herself listening to the lyrics in a different way for the first time. "I never noticed how depressing that song is."

"Is it? Because we're supposed to 'help him sing these songs of freedom'?" he quoted. "I always liked that part."

"If you start singing along, I'm gonna have to pretend I don't know you."

He chuckled at that, and the closeness of it all, the warmth in her face, maintaining that eye contact, got to be a bit much. So she did the only thing she could do, lowering her hands to his shoulders and closing what distance remained between them so she was half looking over his shoulder. Pretty soon, this meant that their heads were touching, scratchy stubble against her temple. She could smell his not-so-subtle aftershave and feel his breath on her ear and neck, sending shivers down her spine, as he whispered: "See? Told you it works."

It worked, all right. Her pulse was racing, and she couldn't decide if this was nice or if it was a "flee, now!" reflex to being trapped. That damn soppy song wasn't helping. _'All I ever had, redemption songs.' _Redemption, to redeem oneself, to be redeemed. Oh God, this was not the time to get all sentimental like an idiot.

The song ended quickly, and he placed a light, nearly imperceptible kiss near her temple before she averted her face, grabbing his hand and pulling him back towards the table because she couldn't tolerate this for one more minute.


	9. Storm

_Author's Note:__ So this is where stuff gets…um…different/intense, and obviously not in an ideal way._

_I love tormenting you guys, so here's a fun interactive feature to this chapter: If anyone catches the significance of the date, I will give you a virtual gold star. Hint: The significance isn't known to the characters. :D Also a cheap trick to get you to review, obviously. All my love and gratitude!_

* * *

"Brian?" She paused to listen after her knock, but could make out no more sound inside the apartment. If he had wanted to hide, he probably shouldn't have left his phone on when she called him and could hear the ringtone through this thin door. She still had the key to his place, but there was no way she was going to use it under these circumstances, when he clearly wanted to be left alone. It would have felt like breaking in. She wouldn't make a scene for the neighbours or camp out here all night, either. She just wanted to check on him after he was supposed to call her but didn't, then didn't pick up when she called him. He always got back to her, even when he was busy, he would at least text her to say so. So she knew it was bad news; it had to be bad. "Come on, I know you're home." She leaned against the doorframe, waiting, until she heard some shuffling behind the door and the turning of the lock.

The man who opened the door bore little resemblance to the one she had called this morning to wish him luck, the one who had been nervous but confident, sending her a selfie to ask if his outfit looked professional enough (and possibly to show off the fact that he owned a suit). This one looked defeated, with bloodshot eyes, messy hair and the sort of haphazard, wrinkled appearance you had when you were past the point of caring about the clothes you had on and whether their colours matched. He stepped back from the door without a word to let her in, gazing at her expressionless like it hadn't fully registered that she was here yet.

She didn't know what to say, so she went ahead and hugged him, and he allowed it passively, putting one hand on her back ever so lightly. "Hi." She kept her arms wrapped around his waist as she scanned the room, trying to find clues as to what he had been up to. There was no beer on the coffee table, no plates, cups or wrappers of any kind and the TV was off. There were no traces of human inhabitants at all. "When did you get back?"

He shrugged non-commitantly and pulled back from her, shuffling over to the sofa and sitting down on it.

"Hey." So he wasn't going to talk to her now? She took off her uncomfortable court shoes, leaving them by the door, and followed him to the couch, sitting down next to him with some space between them. "So it didn't go well today."

"No."

She waited patiently for some elaboration, although all she wanted to do was to shake it out of him, but he gave none. "What happened?"

"I…um…" He was staring off into the distance as if she had asked him the most complex question in the world. He wasn't drunk or particularly emotional. She didn't know what he was. "I lost my shield today."

Uh oh. She tried not to look as aghast as she felt. "Lost…?"

"Yeah. It's Throwback Monday" he chuckled mirthlessly, inappropriately, "meet Officer Cassidy."

"Oh, Brian…"

"Don't, okay? Please, just…don't look at me like that. I had it coming."

"I'm really sorry" she said softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand until he withdrew it. Her immediate instinct was to jump into cheerleading slogans of "…but you'll get it back", "you can appeal", "it doesn't matter about the title, this is temporary", but she knew he wasn't ready to hear that right now. At this very moment, the loss was all that mattered. And if there was one thing she could sympathise with, it was working yourself up and putting absolutely everything into the job.

"Why? You didn't blow the operation-"

"You didn't _blow_ the operation; they got a huge number of corrupt officials." She was still a little fuzzy on who exactly the "they" was, because it turned out no one could keep a secret like Brian Cassidy. "The whole department is still in overhaul. They got Delia, the pimps, the-"

"I still got my cover blown, mostly because I couldn't keep it in my pants. Fucking stupid."

"It was a terribly dangerous, long-term operation; you risked your life for them." There was something ironic about this role reversal where she was the one to get angry at "the man" and defend him, and he was just giving up on the whole thing.

"It doesn't matter." He rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. "None of that matters now. It's done. I'm finished."

"You're not finished. What are they doing, sending you to direct traffic for a while?"

"A little diesel therapy. Bronx courthouse security, probably lots of nightshifts where nothing ever happens. Way to take me down a notch."

"And it sucks, but you can do that. You can. Go along with it for a while until this blows over, find a way to prove yourself and-"

"And what? They'll suddenly go 'oh hey, isn't that the guy who slept with the hooker while UC and got the Police Commissioner fired, fantastic, here, let's give him another job since the last one turned out so well'? My name is on this forever. It's over."

Arguing with him was clearly pointless right now. It only played right into the general anger with everyone that he felt, providing a welcome target. "So what's your plan?"

"I'm gonna sit out my 20, I guess, go private whenever it gets too boring…I don't know, I've been a little busy digesting this" he explained bitterly. "But I can forget the NYPD. One decision and suddenly, you're nothing, you're finished."

"You're not nothing." This black cloud of hopeless doom worried her. _"This job is the only thing I got." _He actually believed that, and now it was as if a gigantic asteroid had just hit earth, blocking out all light.

"You can save the pep talk."

"No, listen to me, I'm not just trying to make you feel better, I'm serious. One mistake doesn't cancel out everything else-"

"Tell that to them!"

"Stop, Cassidy." She put her hand on his upper back, and at least he tolerated that. "You know, when I visited Cragen the other day, he said something that got me thinking. Something about the job not being everything and how if you let it become that, it would destroy you. Actually, he said 'you are more than the sum of your arrests'."

He glared at her, and his voice was icy when he replied: "What a nice line for a Christmas card. That literally means nothing to me."

"Well, maybe that should worry you. You're a good cop, but you're not just a cop, you're a great guy-"

"Oh that's ironic, coming from you, Detective." He could be such a stubborn ass when he was miserable.

"How so?"

"You were super anxious to point out how quickly I could get my shield back if I only applied myself."

"Because I know it's important to you."

"Because I can't be just a dumbass Officer. Being in uniform forever would be totally unacceptable, I'd be a loser in your eyes."

"What? Where the hell did that come from?" Of course, this somehow had to be her fault in some way, because that made it easy. She wasn't sure if she truly wanted to be taken along on this wild goose chase his brain had clearly taken to make that happen. If she told him he could get his shield back, she was lying, if she agreed with him, she was wrong, if she disagreed, she was also wrong.

"Look at you, you're a great detective, and you've earned it, but you wouldn't slip up like that, so to explain it all away, I must be a really great guy deep down inside…well, what if I'm not?" He leaned back against the sofa provocatively. "What if I am just a fucked up ex-cop who liked working for a pimp?"

"You're not." She shrugged simply, and in some way, that seemed to infuriate him even further.

"You wouldn't know! And since when did you get all high and mighty about not letting the job come first, anyway, since that's basically all you ever-"

"That's enough" she interrupted him firmly, but inefficiently. She refused to listen to this for one more second. "I get that you're pissed, but what happened today was not my fault. So I'll leave you to your wallowing for now, take all the time you want to feel like the world is against you and your life is over…but _it isn't_." She got up from the sofa, looking around for her purse which she had dropped who knew where and her shoes. "Tell yourself that I'm lying to you if it makes you feel better, but if you actually believe everything you've just said, then there's really no point in continuing this conversation." She slipped on her shoes, and damn it, why had she been too lazy to untie the laces so they had become all tangled up in a knot that she needed to crouch down to and pick apart?

"Liv…"

"And for what it's worth" she added without glancing up, "you being a Detective? Not your most attractive feature to me, strangely enough. Especially the part where you got shot – that wasn't so great somehow."

"Liv-"

"But if you're _only_ that, then I guess…" She finally looked up to see that he was standing right in front of her, his arms hanging at his sides awkwardly.

"Liv, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

She rose to meet him at eye level. Somehow, the apology didn't ring true. He looked deeply embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed to have voiced all these things, but he had meant every word of it. That was the problem.

"I'm really, really sorry." He said it very quietly, in a subdued tone that made it hard to stay angry with him.

"I…it's okay, I know you're upset." She ran one hand through her hair. Right now, she just wanted to make him stop looking at her like that, to forget about the whole thing, press pause and rewind this conversation.

"No, it's not okay. I shouldn't have…I'm really-"

"-sorry, I know."

"I don't want to screw this up, too."

She didn't even know what to reply to that. So she reached out for his arm, and he pulled her into a loose hug, their second hug today, which felt so much better than the little daggers of words they kept throwing at each other. She shouldn't leave. It wasn't right to leave someone alone like that. She should leave. This was not a good time for talking and she couldn't pick up the pieces here. He didn't want her to take off, so he had apologised. She didn't want to leave, but fear and pity were not good reasons for staying.

"Don't go" he whispered into her hair. "Please."

Fear and pity were not good reasons for staying. They were not good justifications for wanting to feel close to him, and they were certainly not good explanations for hungry kisses up against a wall, where frustration built up into a kind of thrill, into something that had to rise, swell and be resolved. Because she had to not think about this too hard. They needed to get it over with, This Thing that felt so exhilarating and terrifying and she didn't know what else. So it all seemed to happen at once, his lips on her neck, her hand down his pants and his thigh between her legs. And in between breaths and sounds and whispered words that made no sense, somewhere in there, the thoughts finally disappeared.

Like drowning.


	10. Promise

She opened her eyes only to close them again right away, blinking at the brightness. Her first sensation was being hot, uncomfortably so, and covered in sweat, old make-up and other things. She felt disgusting. So her first instinct was to push the sheet aside, except that of course, she was naked underneath. Naked because…oh no. She opened her eyes again, trying to get them to adjust to the unfamiliarly bright room. They hadn't bothered to close the blinds last night, and the sun was glaring onto the bed despite the early hour –a quick glance at his alarm confirmed that it was only 6:13am- and the forecast of morning storms she recalled. It was supposed to become a humid, oppressive July Tuesday but right now, the only thing that felt oppressive was the heated sheet on her bare legs. She rubbed at her eyes, discovering the delightful smear of old mascara on her fingertips, and was about to quietly sneak out of bed when she heard a mumbled "Morning" coming from the human sprawled out next to her who was clearly hogging the larger part of the bed.

"Morning." She needed to get out of here, take a quick shower at home and get to work.

He opened his eyes and turned onto his side, watching her as she sat up, pulling the sheet up to her armpits, with a serious expression on his face. She got the nagging suspicion that he wasn't only just waking up by coincidence. "Hey."

She attempted a smile, unpleasantly self-conscious of what she must look like. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah, I did. You?"

"Me too."

"So last night…" He sat up as well, because this was clearly not a lying down conversation, running his hand down his face. "Was that a mistake?"

It was the verbalisation of her own thoughts, but the blunt question hit home nonetheless. She would have been good with ignoring it for a little while and acting nonchalant. But clearly, he wasn't feeling any dewy summer morning romance here, either. And he was supposed to be the one who was more certain. Things were different now, not that different to yesterday, but different to all those years ago. This wasn't the kind of morning where you woke up with a new lover, feeling excited, hopeful and wanted. This was the kind when you wanted a shower.

"We're consenting adults and neither of us was intoxicated" she reasoned. "It happens."

"It happens."

She hadn't meant it to sound quite so "shit happens". Her statement was supposed to signify that this didn't have to mean drama, that neither of them would have to move to a different city. "It wasn't bad."

It hadn't been and-then-we-both-came-at-the-same-time-and-cried-tears-of-joy-amazing, either, but it had been intense for sure, and different than she remembered (and she remembered). Neither of them had had the restraint for long foreplay, but there had been zones involved that she hadn't even considered a turn-on, wrists and the back of her knee and an avoidance of certain painful areas, so it had been…unusual in the least, if not exactly soft and fluffy. It was the thrill of the memory of something, the rediscovery of bodies once known but altered over the years, that led to a certain impatience, to needing to get to the point.

"That's an understatement" he said drily.

"It was…clearly what we wanted." She smoothed out the covers between them.

"You did want to, right?" He looked worried there for a moment, as if he had forgotten to make her sign a consent form.

"Um, yeah. I just wish it hadn't happened because you…lost your shield."

"No, no, it wasn't like that, it wasn't…" He chewed on his lip. "I mean it was, and it wasn't. But it wasn't about that, not for me, anyway." He was telling the truth, and also not telling it. She had seen it in his dark face last night, with all traces of sweetness washed away. Now, he looked at her dubiously, as if trying to decipher what she was thinking. "If you-"

"God no, Brian. I didn't have pity sex with you when you got shot, you think I'd do it over a temporary demotion?" She outranked him now. That shouldn't matter, it shouldn't be an issue, but she couldn't get his words out of her head. In some crazy way, it was.

For the first time, a smile slid across his face, hesitant as it was, trying not to find the humour in the situation yet clearly stuck with it. "Damn, and here I thought this wounded officer thing could help me score."

She laughed involuntarily. This whole scenario was so messed up. Her brain was messed up. This could all be so easy if they were different people.

"Hey, if I go take a quick shower, will you disappear on me and never come back?" His question was only half a joke.

She leaned over and brushed back his equally messy hair. "No way. I wouldn't do that."

* * *

She arrived at work slightly late in spite of herself, although it was a trade-off between being late and being presentable. Naturally, this was the one morning that Munch had apparently decided to stand next to her desk like a creep, waiting for her report on yesterday's witness interviews with a mood like a regular ray of sunshine, because if he didn't have these reports right this second, the world would fall to pieces. She had never thought of John Munch as a Type A personality. She was reconsidering that. Nick jumped in with a chivalrous attempt at saving her ass, claiming he had asked her to hold off on submitting the report because he wanted to check something. This earned him a suspicious look from her and a weary "thank you, Stabler 2.0" from the Sergeant, who walked off muttering something about insubordinate children.

The two of them were left standing beside their desks, exchanging a knowing, annoyed glance about Munch, a moment together that made her soften towards her partner. "Thanks, Nick, but that wasn't necessary."

"Hey, it's my good deed for the day."

She smiled at him in a way that was supposed to let him know that they were cool, that she had his back in return. Things had been good between them up until the escort case, up until the world had been turned upside down with mistrust and intrigue. They had returned to some sort of routine after that, but it hadn't been the same ever since. It wasn't that they argued, it was that they didn't argue. Their interactions were marked by a polite professionalism, and she found herself hesitating before calling him out on something she disagreed with, waiting just that second longer to share her theories with him. She hated it. By now, their working relationship was like a joint that had stiffened, bandaged in formality and professional courtesy. Obviously, that was something they never acknowledged openly, since they never actually got around to talking about it and now it was too late to make a start.

"Earth to Liv? You okay?"

"Yeah." She sat down, typing her log-in details into the computer, but Nick was still standing beside her desk.

"So I'm not gonna ask you why you're late."

"Good. Don't."

"It's your private business." His words were laden with meaning.

"It has nothing to do with the job. About once every five years, I'm late. No big mystery there." She picked up a pile of papers. Technically, they were supposed to be as paperless an office as possible, but she found it far easier to organize the pieces if she had actual pieces to hold in hand.

"Okay. Good to know."

Then why was she still sensing his towering presence as she tried to immerse herself in her papers? "Did you need something?"

"Liv, what I'm trying to say is: It doesn't matter, okay, your business is your business. I respect that. There's not going to be…gossip or anything."

"Ha. That sure sounds like this place." She couldn't prove it, but she was pretty sure that the men's room was a local hub for information exchange.

He clenched his teeth. "Look, just because of this Haden thing-"

She held up her hand. "Okay, no need to go into that again." If there was one thing she did not want to talk about right now, it was David. Things were complicated enough without throwing her ex-boyfriend-ex-ADA-slash-possibly-ex-corrupt-ADA into it.

"I'd like it if we could move past that and stop being so…guarded around each other."

Guarded. The word was a surprisingly good fit. You weren't supposed to feel exposed around your partner, like he might use something against you any minute. She sighed, deciding to go for honesty. Well, partial honesty. "I liked it better when it wasn't like that, too."

"Okay, so let's stop."

It was sweet, and rational, and very Nick. "It's gonna take time. Trust me, I've done this a few times."

"With Stabler?"

That earned him another glare. She wasn't sure what exactly Nick knew –probably a lot, thanks to the men's room- but he had enough sense not to bring up that name.

"Right, none of my business. But we're good, right?"

She made her lips curl into a smile. "We're good. No deep, dark secrets here, I promise."

* * *

[So I got my ass kicked for being late this morning. Thanks for that.] It was a quick, a very quick corridor lunch break, but she couldn't leave it alone. The memories kept flooding back to her at moments when it was really inappropriate, bordering on perverse to be thinking about it, and sometimes, they felt dirty and gross, and other times addictive. She could feel his fingers on her thigh and _"shit, you're beautiful"_ and…stop. This was so not the time, and if Nick caught her grinning at her phone like an idiot, he would so know.

It took Brian a moment to respond, and she wondered if he sometimes typed, then deleted and retyped his messages as she did. [I'm not sorry…]

[Don't get used to it. Gotta be a role model for the rookies.]

[Amaro kicked your ass? No surprises there. Asshole.]

[Amaro saved my ass.]

[Hey, you didn't tell him, did you?]

[Yeah, because that would go so well… We don't exactly make friendship bracelets and exchange info on our sex lives.]

[Good. Don't think I want his gun pulled on me a second time.] At least they were on the same page about one thing.

[You doing okay?]

[Yeah. I still don't have my gun back, so no need to worry.]

This time, it took her a minute to respond. [You need to stop with the non-funny gun text jokes.]

[Sorry. Gotta go study How not to get a courthouse blown up 101.]


	11. Darkness

The new piece of information she found out over their next few encounters was that he loved it when she stayed over. He would literally get the broadest, kid-on-Christmas-morning grin on his face if she decided she was too lazy to go home in the middle of the night. At first, she thought it was cute. Cute and mildly annoying, because she actually liked sleeping in her own bed and being able to get ready at home in the mornings, so they quickly relocated to her place on most days. It became considerably less cute, and considerably more disruptive, when she realized that he didn't sleep. Ever. At least she never caught him at it, so his periods of sleep had to be short. He would toss and turn, find other things to do like watching TV or randomly wandering the apartment, even reading. She would wake up in the middle of the night to find him gone, would wake up in the morning to him being already awake. It was disturbing, and when she asked him what was wrong, he would simply tell her that he hadn't been active enough during the day, that he was used to a different rhythm, that he wasn't tired. Only he was, awfully so, considering how much better he was doing physically than in those early days when the painkillers had pretty much knocked him out. She saw him yawning, spacing out in the middle of a conversation, his eyes glazing over while he was supposed to be reading some rules and regulations. He was desperate to be declared fit for duty at last, and she wanted that for him so he would keep his sanity – and yet, you had to wonder if he was alert enough for it. Obviously, she kept her mouth shut about these doubts for the most part, except when she was desperately trying to get to sleep herself, and he kept moving around enough to make her wonder if he had restless legs syndrome.

"Brian" she sighed.

"Sorry" he murmured, stilling his movements.

She turned onto her side, bunching the pillow up under her head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just can't sleep." He was lying on his back now, staring up at the ceiling. She could see the outline of his jaw in profile. The sheet only came up to his stomach. In the darkness, you could hardly see the small, angry, red wounds that would turn into scars soon.

"How come?"

"I'm just not tired."

"You are" she objected sympathetically. Her own share of sleepless nights allowed her to recognise the distinction between someone who wasn't tired, and someone who was unable to shut down his brain.

"Look, I'm clearly bothering you, so how about I head on home and-"

"No, don't." She had known it would end this way, with him walking out rather than answering a simple question. She put her hand on his shoulder, scooting closer to him. "It's fine. I'm just wondering what's going on."

"I told you, I'm not used to this. I've been sitting on my ass for the past two months. The past few years, it's been…go, go, go, you know. And now…nothing."

"That's hard to get used to."

"Yeah."

"Do you miss it?" She could feel him tense up at the question. "It would be understandable, you know, it doesn't mean that you approved of…all that stuff. Three years is a long time."

"I don't even know, to be honest. Like sure, I miss having a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning and other…parts of it. But I don't miss random instructions to 'keep that bitch in check'. I don't miss being scared all the time, watching my back, thinking he's gonna find out who I am any second now." His voice sounded raspy as he talked about it like it was some sort of normal thing, as if existential threat were a part of any day to day life.

She had never heard him use the word "scared" to describe the experience. It was the kind of thing only darkness or a sufficient amount of painkillers could make him say. She stroked his arm with her thumb.

"It's funny, you know. Now I could rest easy, but…"

"What do you think about?"

"I don't know. Stuff." He put his other arm up behind his head, and she could still notice that split second of hesitation in his movement on that side. "You don't wanna hear about all this."

"Yeah, I do."

"Go to sleep."

If only it were that easy. She was wide awake now, trying to picture what life with Ganzel must have been like. She couldn't, because she had nothing to compare it to, and her guesses as to the best and worst of that life were drawn from gruesome SVU cases she didn't want to think about. And now they were talking, actually talking about something of substance and he wasn't pretending or playing it cool. "How did you do it for that long?"

"I know it sounds weird, but it wasn't that bad. For the first six months, while they were checking me out, nothing happened. Most boring job ever. And then you just…it becomes normal after a while. You just keep going. You don't think about it, not while you're in the middle of it all. I wasn't really expecting it to end…like that." He exhaled heavily.

She moved her hand to his chest, careful to avoid any painful areas. "But you knew the risks."

"Yeah. I knew. But you always think it's not gonna be you, right?" He reached up, covering her hand with his. "It's no big deal, it's over now."

It sure didn't sound like "no big deal". It sounded like all the stress of the past three years was only getting to him now. She always told herself that it would get better, that he would feel better once he went back to work. But what if that wasn't the case? How much of his negative outlook was because his career was going down the drain, how much was the adjustment to a new lifestyle, and how much was just him and how he had changed over the years? There was no clear way to handle this. She didn't know how to help, and somehow she doubted that having a friend/lover/someone you had great sex with every once in a while would be a magical cure for everything.

"Have you considered, uh, going to see someone about this? It's a lot to process, and-"

"What do you mean 'see someone'?" he asked suspiciously, as if she were trying to get him to confess a crime.

"You know, a mental health professional."

"Jesus, Liv, I don't need a shrink. I'm not gonna freak out the second I see a gun, okay? Relax."

"I know, but you've been through a lot…" She couldn't fail to notice the gun reference – he _was _worried about that. "It's not a sign of weakness."

"Oh, man…" He shifted his position, arching his back, then turned onto his side to face her. "Don't give me that speech, Liv."

"Well, do you need me to?" She was looking straight at him now, his eyes shining in the near-darkness. "I'm serious. I'm worried about you."

"Look, I'm not gonna give IAB one more reason to declare me unsuitable."

"You wouldn't have to go through work-"

"They'd know. They always know, you_ know_ that."

She didn't know why he was getting so defensively angry with her, as if she were the one who was being unreasonable here. Well, actually she did know, because this was the typical "ooh, I'm such a tough guy, I'm a man, I'm a cop, I can save the world" attitude she was used to from work, exacerbated by the fact that this new Cassidy struck her as deeply mistrustful of anything and anyone, especially any form of authority. "Just think about it."

"I just did. No."

"Brian, you…" She didn't want to bring this up, because fighting against his stubbornness was like playing dodgeball with a brick wall. "The other day, you said you're nothing, like your life is over."

"What kind of self-absorbed asshole would say something like that?" He tried to go for a charming grin, but it didn't quite work. Sometimes, self-deprecation wasn't humorous, it was just self-deprecation.

"If you feel like everything's pointless-"

"Not everything." He touched her hair, and gently ran his fingers down the length of one strand up until the very end.

* * *

Every once in a blue moon, Olivia wished that she had a female friend. It wasn't that she had a desire to sit around a brunch table having giggly discussions in a "Sex and the City" style, but occasionally, it would be nice to get a woman's perspective. Of course, all the friends she did have were work friends, and she found it much easier there to get along with men, and that wasn't just because they were the overwhelming majority. With female officers, there was always that bit of something, of mistrust or competition, of needing to defend your turf. The only woman she trusted there, really trusted, was Melinda, and it wasn't like they ever met up outside of work. This wasn't exactly a subject matter she could talk about with her colleagues, anyway, because she knew what they would say. She needed an impartial perspective, a non-Detective perspective. Or just the validation that what she was doing made sense and that it was perfectly okay to have an affair you weren't sure about. But how did people go about making female friends? How did they do it, when they got home from work late and then they had more case work, background reading, exercise and a potentially depressed secret lover to deal with?

So every once in a while, Olivia ditched all responsibilities, leaving everything behind to have a night out on her own, whether it was going to a bar or seeing a movie, treating herself to some nice food – just her, and she was fine with that. If she had a date with herself, she would actually refuse to make plans with other people, which was something Elliot had always teased her about. But it had decades of tradition behind it, stemming from those years where she would stop by her mother's apartment, trying to check up on her and never knowing what condition she would find her in. In those years of "I need you, I hate you, I love you, leave me alone, come back", she would have gone crazy without those escape nights to herself, when she had refused to take her mother's drunken calls. She needed that time. The only period in her adult life when she had really slipped out of her habit had been that blissful time with David – and that had been a mistake. Somehow, she had found herself lost in this new, scary relationship, and it had been wonderful and exciting and way too fast. She wasn't going to make that mistake again. The conditions had been so right on paper: an educated, emotionally stable, social guy with similar interests who liked kids, who wanted a real relationship, who wanted only her…until he didn't. But she had felt good with David, the full, nauseating butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of good.

Now, it was either butterflies or hornets, affection or nostalgia for what might have been, deep and meaningful or just a midlife crisis affair that she would regret. And why was she even thinking about it that way, comparing Brian to David and having these silly little scenarios in her head? She knew, in her heart of hearts, that neither she nor Brian were in the right place for a relationship. She wasn't even sure that he _did_ "relationships", but then again, the same could have been said for her up until a year ago. But it was company, it was good, he made her laugh when he didn't infuriate her, she distracted him from all the other crap in his life. She just wasn't sure that she wanted to be that, a distraction or, worse, the only good thing right now. She couldn't be that for someone. That was how people got hurt.

Either way, she needed a drink.


	12. Distraction

_Author's Note:__ I blame lucyspencer for that first scene. :D The following story is entirely fictitious and any resemblances… Thank you for the reviews, as usual! They are much appreciated. There's something to this intermittent positive reinforcement thing. I am off to Cape Coast tomorrow, so probably no more updates this weekend and then lots of real life stuff to do next week while on the road. But do say hi! _

* * *

She chugged down the last of her coffee, burning her tongue in the process. This was not a good time to be late for work. So if only that guy Brian was talking to at the door, the mystery person he was desperately trying to keep away from her, would go ahead and leave, she could do the same. She felt like more of an idiot by the minute for hiding in his bedroom like a dirty little secret, and feeling silly quickly turned into offended when she heard the muffled voices and laughter coming from the living room. It wasn't like she introduced Brian to her friends, but he wasn't supposed to think of her as an embarrassment. Screw it. She wasn't going to get curious looks from Nick for running late again just because of some unannounced visitor. Cassidy would just have to deal with it.

She grabbed her bag from the floor and got up, entering the living room.

"Oh!" a curious voice immediately came from the door, which was being pushed open a little wider. "I didn't know you had company. That explains why we're standing out here."

"Hi, sorry, I'm just on my way out."

"Hii" mystery man said it in a drawn-out voice, a broad grin spreading on his face. "I'm Ray."

"Olivia" she introduced herself curtly, feeling forced to shake the outstretched hand of the man who conveniently showed up as soon as things were better, yet hadn't really visited Brian when he had been in pain, barely able to move. Oh, he had reportedly checked in a couple of times, but had never had the sense to, for example, bring groceries or offer any sort of help. He was The Wannabe Cool Guy (not that she instantly judged him).

He squeezed her hand a little too hard, looking her up and down. "So you're the mystery woman."

"Ray…" Brian groaned, shooting his friend a "just stop talking" look.

"Yes, and you're the friend" she remarked, because this was getting to be kind of fun, if only for the priceless expression of embarrassment on Cassidy's face. He was leaning against the doorframe, putting up a semi-barrier between them. Her only choice would be to squeeze past him and the broad-shouldered, middle-aged guy in the "#awesome" t-shirt to escape this situation.

Ray laughed a little too hard, flashing his set of perfect, white teeth. "He's told me nothing about you." He gave his friend an obvious "score!" look, the kind of look guys at the bar gave each other when they really wanted to do a high five, but couldn't. "Girlfriend?"

"None of your business." Brian was mortified, and she could see the wheels in his head turning as he debated how to best get rid of his friend.

"You are way hotter than that Japanese girl."

"Come on, man!"

"What? She was a bitch. Guess that shouldn't be a surprise."

Oh God. It all made so much sense now…

[I am so sorry.] She received the first text from him in the car on her way to work.

[Are you never coming over again? I'd totally understand.] Second text within half an hour. She needed to put him out of his misery.

[Why? I'm way hotter than 'that Japanese girl'.]

[She was Korean. Ray doesn't really do distinctions. Do you understand why you've never met him now?]

[Because he's a dumbass and possibly a racist?] How on earth had this guy become the only person on Brian's friend list?

[We don't really talk. We watch sports together. He brings the good beer.]

[Yeah, I can't picture the deep conversations there.]

[It's not like I didn't tell him about you specifically. I tell him nothing about my life.]

It was cute that he felt a need to explain this to her, but it also filled her with a bit of unease. Why would he talk about her? [It's okay, really. No explanation needed.]

* * *

It was his last day of freedom, and they were determined to make the most of it before the inevitable evening storm would hit. Judging from Brian's demeanour, it might as well have been his last day before going to prison. But even mentioning that produced a cloud of doom over him, so they were doing their best to stay distracted, sitting in the grass on Cedar Hill, watching Sunday picnickers and a family tossing a football back and forth. They had been lucky to find a bit of shade under a tree, as most people had been rendered immobile by the humid heat. She pulled at her shirt uncomfortably where it clung to her back, and tucked at the unusual ponytail she wore, trying to keep it away from her neck.

He smirked at her as she kept fidgeting around. "You're really not too good with this relaxation thing, are you?"

"I'm fine, just…remind me why we couldn't do anything again?" He had rejected all her propositions of going to a museum, taking a drive outside the city, going somewhere with water around.

"How are we not doing something? We're outside."

"Fair enough." She took a deep breath, surveying their surroundings. Off to their left, a couple was lying flat in the grass, sunbathing, while their kids were pelting each other with bits of dirt or grass. The younger girl started crying as some of it caught in her hair, that little dramatic fake cry kids did when they wanted their sibling to get in trouble, and the woman she presumed to be their mom told them to cut it out in an annoyed tone.

Brian wrapped his arm around her shoulders so casually she nearly didn't notice until it was there. "Hey."

"Hey back." She turned her head to look at him.

"Tell me something about you."

"That's out of the blue. What do you mean?"

"Just anything."

"What, I like artichokes, my favourite colour is purple, that kind of thing?"

His smirk was crooked, with a slight dimple forming in one cheek. "Your favourite colour is not purple."

"Oh yeah? Wanna bet?"

"It's mardi gras."

She burst out laughing. It wasn't even accurate, but that was, hands down, the thing she had least expected to hear him say, ever. "Now you're just showing off. You read 50 Shades of Purple?"

"I've been bored."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly. "Browsing paint samples at the store is not a hobby, hon."

"You're deflecting, _hon_" he stressed her joking use of a term of endearment which was clearly off-limits.

"Okay, what do you wanna know?" She was fine with staying in fuzzy la-la-land for a little while, pretending to be an ordinary couple and play acting. It was a sunny afternoon, too hot to think about things or get serious. It was good to get out though.

"Just about your life. You know, you haven't told me…anything."

"That's not true, I tell you things." She touched his knee, which was bent with his other leg stretched out in front of him.

"About work. About Munch, Harris…"

"Well, that is pretty much my life."

"But I haven't seen you in 13 years. How have you been?"

"That's…a loaded question." She brushed her hand against the side of her neck, moving her ponytail to the side so he would stop playing with her hair.

"Is it?"

"13 years is a long time." She couldn't believe it had been that long. Trying to separate the years out in her head proved difficult. In her memory, it was year after year of the same, with the exception of a couple of particularly rough ones. But aside from them, it was coffees with Elliot as his kids got older, and case files deep into the night. Until everything had changed. "I've been pretty immersed in work. Not much time for other things."

"Other things?"

"Last year, things kind of changed. I figured they needed to, after….and…" She hesitated, but things were so easy with Brian, it felt like she could tell him about these things. They had never had that "dating" period where you presented yourself in a perfect light, because of the way things had started between them. The cards were already on the table, the skeletons out of the closet, the weaknesses and dark spots exposed. "I was in a relationship for a while, but it didn't work out."

"Right." She wondered just how much he knew about this, or whether that had only been Delia's leverage. He was smart enough not to betray it. He could be a good listener when he wanted to be.

"But after last year, it was nice to have a change."

"After last year…?"

"There was a shooting at the precinct. Someone died and it was…pretty chaotic." It was weird to talk about it. Aside from the mandatory group crisis intervention session they had been forced to sit through after, which had mostly consisted of everyone staring at the floor in awkward silence, no one had ever mentioned it again. Cragen had tried, but it was as if Munch, Fin and her had made an unspoken pact to let it rest. If it happened to come up in conversation, one of the two men would usually throw a furtive glance at her like they expected her to burst into tears.

"Yeah, I heard about that, saw it on the news. I remember wondering…" He shook his head. "But no cops were hurt, right?"

"No, but…it was my case. The girl, the shooter, we failed her." Her voice shook a little as she said it, and she mentally cursed herself for it. This was not a good road to go down. She was so over this. So she found herself looking straight ahead, clenching her teeth and hoping that Brian would ignore this, too, because if he asked her one more question about it, that could be the breaking point. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shake the image of Elliot's face as he had held Jenna in his arms.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He squeezed her shoulders lightly.

She wanted to say "it's okay", but opening her mouth didn't feel safe right now.

"For what it's worth, I think sometimes…sometimes there's no good option to take, you know, nothing you can do to help. Sometimes you only get a choice of bad options."

Well, no shit. How many times had he not helped someone because it would have blown his cover to do so? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"And Stabler left after that?"

"Yep."

Even Brian got the message that this was all she would ever say on that subject. Elliot was Elliot – _semper fi_ until he wasn't. He was out of the picture, and this was private, and no one would ever understand the connection they had shared. She couldn't possibly explain to Brian about the changes, about filling that space in her life. It would have sounded crazy dependent.

"So, your turn" she ended the pause. "What about your life?"

"You know what I've been up to." An expression of confusion crossed his features at the change of subject. "I told you, I stayed in Narco pretty much until I got that UC job, which took months of preparation."

"I know, I don't mean the basic facts from your resumé. I mean what your life actually looked like." _Who are you really, Brian Cassidy?_

"You know I can't tell you much about that."

"Can't, or won't? I'm not looking for details on your UC operation." And it was only fair of him to share, after the way she had just exposed herself.

"But that's pretty much all I did. Keeping it on the down low, meeting up with my mom enough so she wouldn't get crazy worried, working in…the sex trade. Not much to tell there." At least not much that he wanted her to know.

"Okay, so what about now. What did you always want to do while you were UC, that you couldn't?"

"Besides telling Ganzel what a fucked up asshole he was, you mean?" he replied grimly. "So many things."

"Like what?"

He was watching the family beside them, who were starting to pack up their stuff as the kids whined about wanting to stay. "I'd like to go on vacation somewhere far away. I haven't been on a trip in…shit…five, six years? If you don't count the time Ganzel got so high he spontaneously decided to charter a helicopter and fly all the way to Vegas in it, but that was more exhausting than anything else."

"That sounds…intense."

"Yeah."

"A vacation, huh?"

"Yeah. Is that a stupid dream?"

"No. Not at all." It was a pretty modest dream, actually, which made it endearing. This was an achievable goal, a real one.

"When was the last time you went anywhere?"

"It's been a while" she admitted. Being in a different environment, relaxing, didn't come naturally to her. But it sure sounded nice.

He chewed on his lower lip. "God, Liv…I wish we could just forget all this and go lie on a beach somewhere."

"Me too."


	13. Power

_Author's Note:__ I am back! For now, but will be gone again from tomorrow through the weekend, so expect no updates before next week. Real life and so forth. But if you want to make my day as I'm on the road, leave me a review because I love to hear your thoughts. __ Or tweet me to entertain me on the bus nightwitch87. A special thanks goes out to cheertennis12 this chapter for her encouragement to keep going and exchange of Bensidy thoughts._

* * *

Maybe she had been a little naïve. She had expected things to somehow sort themselves out when he started working again, to self-regulate into an easier rhythm. The first reason was simple: No matter how much he complained about his assignment, he did want to work and feel useful again, so she was glad for him. He had his own, separate life back, and that was a good thing. The second reason, however, that one was a little more complicated and had a whole lot to do with her own sense of relief about being freed from some sort of responsibility for his happiness. If he was "sorted out", she didn't have to make sure he was okay. Olivia didn't do codependency, that was something she had promised herself growing up. But these past few weeks or months had been like a slow burning trip through nowhere land, an accelerated Something that existed off the record in a world where all boundaries had been uprooted by shootings, demotions and a general lack of structure. In this world, there weren't too many things to hold on to, so having a summer Something had been comforting. However, comfortable wasn't always sensible, and the real world was bound to catch up with them at some point. This real world consisted of completely opposite schedules with no flexibility whatsoever. On the bright side, that pushed the inevitable question of "what now?" to the background, because she so wasn't ready to have "that talk".

"I'm sorry, but…gotta stay to do the paperwork, you know?" He had called her half an hour before he was supposed to meet her to cancel -or, as he called it, "postpone"- yet again.

"Yeah, I get it." He couldn't very well drop everything at the end of his shift, leaving it all behind in his second work week. It was just that she had barely heard from him at all since he had started his job, which was a weird change to how things had been before. Of course, "before" referred to the time when everything had basically fit around her own work schedule like a neat package, and she could call him whenever and he would answer. Looking back on it, that hadn't been so bad.

"Rain check?"

"Definite rain check."

"I have a 4 to 12 on Saturday, maybe-" There were voices in the background, which suddenly stopped as he clearly covered the receiver with his hand. "Sorry, gotta go, I'll call you later."

"Bye." She hung up and leaned against the wall, exhaling deeply. This was so not going to work. It was good while it was good, but the second it made you unhappy more often than happy, you were supposed to stop it, right? Were they just too lazy for that?

"Liv" Nick interrupted her thoughts with perfect timing as usual, rounding the corner as if he had been waiting behind it.

"What?" she barked rudely.

He was visibly taken aback. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. What can I do for you?"

"Cap wants to see you. All of us individually, actually." He looked uncomfortable, like a schoolboy caught cheating.

"What does he want?"

"He, um…man, this is so awkward." And yet he was dying to tell her, torn between loyalty towards his superior and that insatiable need to gossip with your partner. "I guess you'll find out in a minute, anyway, and it's better if you don't look too-"

"Spill."

He lowered his voice, glancing around at the empty corridor like Cragen was going to turn up any second and tell him off. "So apparently, this lady, this writer, approached him wanting to write a book about…you know."

"You know" had become the official code for "that time the Captain got arrested for murdering a prostitute". On their boss's third day back, everyone was thrilled to get back into the old routine, but it was so awkward because he basically refused to talk about or even acknowledge what had happened, which made everyone want to act extra normal around him, an effort that tended to have the opposite effect. Even Fin had submitted his daily reports on time, and Munch had been stiffly respectful, pretending that he hadn't taken over a significant proportion of the command in Cragen's absence and patiently waiting for guidance. They all desperately wanted to forget the image of him in an orange jumpsuit, being led to the visitation room, and most of all, him with Carissa's blood all over his bed.

"Wow, fast. I guess that was to be expected, but to approach him like that?"

"I know. And now he's basically asking us not to talk to her, without ordering us because it wasn't our case and he thinks he can't officially do that, ethics and all." Nick crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaning against the wall next to her. "Like we'd give him up for our five seconds of fame."

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"I'd like to find that woman, give her a piece of my mind-"

"_Don't_. You'll make it worse; you'll make it seem like there's something to hide."

"I know. I just hate to see him in that position."

"Me too."

* * *

"He's an asshole, that's what's wrong with him."

"An asshole you'll have to put up with for a while." Where on earth was her nice blouse, the one she specifically remembered ironing because she was trying to cut down on dry-cleaning bills? Trying to get herself ready for work while also listening to a tired, ranting boyfrie- lover?- proved to be difficult. She wasn't good with the 7am conversations any more than he was after a long night shift and a couple of hours of sleep. "Let's have early breakfast and catch up" had basically turned into "let's have a quickie in the shower and not talk". Except that now, all of a sudden, he wanted to talk about his hated new boss and her capacity to listen was limited.

"So he slips me my schedule all smug like 'you should be grateful you have nothing to get home to, Cassidy'."

"He actually said that?"

"Yep. Added something about me not having kids, too, like that has anything to do with…anything." He buttoned his pants and went over to her drawer, rummaging through it in a furious search for what she could only assume were a couple of shirts he had subtly left at her place "by accident".

"Come on, no one has ever thrown the 'you don't understand, you don't have kids' line at you?" She reached into the closet and pulled out a t-shirt she had re-folded and stowed away in there because she hated having his stuff lying around where it didn't belong.

"Thanks." He took it from her, slipping it on over his head. "And no."

It was gender dynamics, right there, and she couldn't help feeling a tad smug about it. "Lucky you."

He glowered at her. "Thanks, you're really helping here."

"No, I'm just…" Where the hell was that blouse? "They're just hazing the newbie, and I know you hate it, but remember your first days at SVU?"

"You mean when Munch sent me to the basement to find a DXI9-K form –the glorious days before it was all online-"

"-and it took you about three hours to figure it out?" It was mean-spirited, and so not funny, she reminded herself as she could feel a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth at the memory, turning to face the closet.

He came up behind her, sneaking his arms around her bare waist and placing a kiss on her shoulder… "You're right, compared to you guys, Romanski is a real sweetheart."…another kiss on the other side of her bra strap, moving higher up to her neck. His breath tingled on her skin.

She put her arms on top of his, lightly running her fingers along the length of hairy skin. "It'll get better."

"Maybe." His mouth was nearly behind her ear as he mumbled a barely audible "missed you".

She closed her eyes. Damn it. She needed to get dressed, not want to put everything on hold and slip right back into bed with him. She needed…that blouse…

He stopped his progress all of a sudden and disappeared from her touch way too quickly, pulling back. "I mean 4 to 12 or 12 to 8, that's supposed to be it so you don't end up taking a nap on the courthouse steps. What kind of a messed up schedule is 4 to 12, 12 to 8 then 4 to 12, 8 to 4, 12 to 8?"

"One that's not healthy."

"Exactly. So I was gonna tell him that he's just some power hungry idiot and that he better get his shit together-"

"-probably not the best idea-"

"But I played nice, didn't complain, yes sir, just asked him if it was gonna be like that for a while, and he tells me to go talk to the Union if I don't like it, but that they don't really have a thing for high and mighty ex-detectives who can't do a real man's work anymore. Him of all people! That shadow parking idiot has been sitting on his ass for the past twenty years, doing rotas at a courthouse, and he thinks he's James Bond?" He looked at her expectantly, like he had just disclosed a great revelation and she was supposed to burst into sympathetic rage with him.

"Like you said, he sounds like an asshole." Unfortunately, there were many of that sort around, but did he really have to feed into Brian's whole emasculation loser fantasy? And yes, she had just struck gold! There, on a hanger at the very back of her considerable closet, was her blouse. She slipped it on, doing up the short row of buttons, then deciding to unbutton the very top again.

"He makes Ganzel look like a stand-up chap."

"Don't say that" she groaned, because she was so sick of this UC nostalgia thing he had going on. How quickly he had forgotten the bad parts and turned it into an action hero story in his head.

"I swear, the politics of the small man who compensates…"

"Okay, Dr. Freud." She tucked her shirt into her pants and sat down on the bed next to him, putting her hand on his back. "You're right, it is unfair."

"Well, not really…"

"You can do this."

"I know." He met her gaze, and suddenly, a fleeting sadness crossed his features – not annoyance or exasperation with everything, but genuine sorrow in his eyes. He reached up for her face and traced her cheekbone with his thumb. "I wish…"

"What?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. Wishful thinking didn't get you anywhere.

He shook his head slowly. "Nothing."


	14. Fantasy

_"Oh heavens, how I long for a little ordinary human enthusiasm. Just enthusiasm - that's all. I want to hear a warm, thrilling voice cry out Hallelujah!...Hallelujah! I'm alive!" _

– "_Look Back in Anger", John Osbourne_

* * *

The wind from the fan provided a satisfying relief from the day's heat, which had lingered around her unaired apartment into the night. That was after she had finally gone out during store opening hours and bought herself a new fan, which had only taken until summer was nearly over. She lifted up her laptop for a moment, enjoying the cool breeze on her skin whenever the fan faced her way. There, that felt so much better. She finally gave up on work-related research, closing her notebook and setting it down on her nightstand before the overheated-computer-bare-legs situation became unbearable. Even freshly showered, her thighs already felt sticky again since the lotion hadn't been fully absorbed by her skin in this heat, and she was thankful for the baggy old t-shirt that didn't cling to her body.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself under observation from a very distracted Brian Cassidy, who was sitting at the opposite end of the bed, clearly paying no attention to the catalogues in his lap. He was smiling in a mischievous way, his mind off who knew where.

"You're blocking my wind" she complained, as he was basically sitting right between her and the fan with his back turned towards it.

"Should have picked a better spot."

"It's _my_ wind."

"You do know how ridiculous that sounds, right?"

"Sounded better in my head."

His shit-eating grin grew a little wider. "You look gorgeous."

"Nice try." She didn't feel like it, not when she had razor bumps on the back of one calf only and her stomach was full of vegetable stir-fry. Still, it was nice to get a compliment, with whatever underlying motive. It felt good to be desirable, to sport a summer tan inside a cool bedroom that was only dimly lit.

"Sexy." He tossed the catalogues onto the floor and moved out of "her wind" in a deliberate gesture, tipping an imaginary hat before crawling over to her side on all fours. He ended up stretched out flat on the bed beside her, still smiling up at her, and she couldn't help but ruffle his hair in a rather unsexy manner.

"What were you looking at?"

"Cuba." Cuba seemed to be a very satisfying escapist fantasy destination, judging from his mood.

"Do they even want Americans there?"

"They call it a 'culturally vibrant dream destination'. You should look at the pictures."

"And what would you do in Cuba?"

"_We_ would hang out on the beach, swim with dolphins, walk along the markets of Havana, learn Salsa, visit the locations of Buena Vista Social Club and not mention the NYPD, ever." His eyes twinkled as he talked about it, and the liveliness of his excitement was contagious.

"Sounds fun."

"We could go hiking in the rainforest."

"Um, yeah, you go do that… Don't think I have the shoes for it."

"You can imagine flying to a different country, but you can't imagine buying a pair of shoes?"

"There is no alternative universe where I would enjoy hiking through the rainforest with you."

They had been playing this imaginary vacation game for a while now. She wasn't quite sure how it had started, but at some point this summer, Brian had begun to collect travel catalogues, claiming they were so much easier to look at than internet websites, and anyway, he wasn't looking seriously, since he wouldn't get any time off in forever, so what was the harm in it? It was entirely out of character for him to plan like that, since he normally lacked the foresight to even reserve movie tickets online. The man who answered questions about evening plans with a firm "let's wait and see" would suddenly bring a catalogue of New Zealand over and plan an entire Lord of the Rings style tour in his head, knowing full well that he didn't have the money or time to ever actually go to New Zealand of all places. But he pretended as if, and she went along with it, going on mental train journeys through India and visiting the Alhambra in Granada. Reality became unimportant.

In this fantasy world of theirs, safety was a secondary concern. There were no limits imposed by the force of habit. The constraints of social and professional relationships had been set aside, and so it became their safe space for exploration. Like playing "I'm going on a trip and taking … with me". 'I'm going on a trip and taking one bit of pure happiness without consequences, and two degrees of freedom.' The trouble with this was that every time she rehearsed this fiction, it became a little more tangible. The pencil drawing was filled in with colours, sounds and smells, and she could actually picture them strolling through a narrow terracotta alley somewhere. One day. And that just lead to future-oriented thinking, and no good could come of that.

"What's wrong, babe?"

_Babe?!_ He had only ever called her that in a very specific context before, and she was pretty sure anything said during sex didn't count. It was a bit too much. "Nothing."

"You look like you just walked in on Munch naked."

"Thanks for the mental image."

"Fine, we can go on a pretend journey to Alaska instead, if it's snow you want." Wow, he was trying here, working so hard to keep it casual.

However, the moment had passed. They weren't on an island somewhere, but in her dark apartment in a post-kids, post-Elliot, post-40 world. Summer was nearly over, as announced by colder mornings. She didn't have endless time to waste on games or midlife crises. There wasn't an infinite amount of time left, not like it had seemed one day, years ago.

His smile faltered as he watched her. He put his hand on her knee. "Hey."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just thinking that it would be nice to get away. I mean…for real."

"And we'll do it, one day."

She had plenty of experience with "one day". "One day" had a tendency of never showing up, but the way he said it didn't sound empty. It amazed her how he could be so certain about this. In spite of how low his confidence had been lately, this random fantasy was something that was easy? This was doable? "Sure."

"I'm serious." His thumb was drawing circles on her smooth skin, distracting her because it felt so _good_, so warm and human, like something she hadn't had in so long. And how bad was it, really, to indulge in that for a while? If this was what her post-40 life consisted of, was that so wrong? She didn't need a man to be happy, but she was having fun. It was innocent company. It was so easy with him.

She bent down to kiss him, but the angle was too awkward, so she slipped out of her seated position to lie beside him, his hand sliding up her thigh, and his touch and the breeze felt just right as her lips parted. He smelled of that ocean two-in-one shower gel he used, pure and simple. And pretty soon, there wasn't much room for fantasies in her head, because her leg was draped across him and his obvious physical response to her, and before she knew it, she was half lying on him and his naked chest until she remembered, recalled the thing she never forgot… She could hardly interrupt their liplock for long enough to ask: "Does this hurt?"

"No" he growled, and there was no softness in it until he grinned sheepishly and added "I like…this".

"I can tell." She repositioned herself more firmly on top of his lap, driven by a physical need to feel him _there_, as he pushed up her shirt, running his hands up her sides until they brushed against the underside of her breasts. She gasped, catching his hands and pushing them to the side gently, intertwining their fingers until their hands were pinned by his side. Which meant that she was leaning forward, but not too close, and seeing his reaction as she moved her hips slightly was… There was something about this, about being in control, about still having her panties on…

"You-"

"Shut up."

"Hurry up…I…uh…"

"I…fuck…"

"I can't…"

"I…I like you…"


	15. Evidence

_Author's Note:__ Lucky Chapter 15! And I'm nowhere near done yet, as I have decided. Ideas are always taking shape, although I may do a one-shot or something here and there in between. As always, thank you for any reviews you might choose to share, they are so addictive and they always, always make my day. Any thoughts on current chapters are kindly appreciated.  
_

_EDIT: OMG, I can't believe this actually uploaded on the 11th attempt or so!_

* * *

Autumn arrived slowly this year, as the sun stubbornly retained its hold over this insulated island of smog they lived on. A slightly less searing version of summer had begun, and summer 2.0 drew people out of their homes despite the cloudy, humid mornings. She was ready for the seasons to change, for cooler evenings and colourful leaves, but that wasn't September. That would be the next month. "Be careful what you wish for" Brian told her, his regular, chipper self predicting hurricanes, floods and general doom. He was like a reverse horoscope in that respect.

She had to admit that she didn't mind this prolonged season of forgetting on the weekends, once she had grown used to Sunday walks in the park, to reading in the grass with her head resting on Brian's leg until he complained about the ever increasing weight of her brain. But these times had grown fewer with his extremely irregular schedule, and after a double shift, he tended to just want to hang out in front of the TV with take-out –no more culinary adventures- not talking. Which was fine by her, really. So here they were on the first vacation day she had taken in ages, a Thursday afternoon spent in front of the TV with a bucket of popcorn, watching Dickey crush the Pittsburgh Pirates.

"Damn, I love that man" Brian exclaimed in a burst of emotion reserved for sports in general, and baseball in particular.

"Me too." There was something about that man, even if he talked more like a professor than a guy who threw knuckleballs for a living.

Brian raised his eyebrows at that, glancing at her sideways. "Oh yeah?"

"What? You just said you loved him. This is good news; we have the same taste in men." She loved to tease him, because he made it so easy.

"That's different. I wouldn't hook up with him. You just said it like…"

"Hey, if R.A. Dickey comes knocking round my door, I'm not making any promises."

"Fine. But then I get to make a list, too." He leaned over and kissed her firmly, his fingers brushing ever so slightly against her hip where there was a gap between her shirt and pants, which he _knew_ she hated, no matter how many times she declared that she wasn't ticklish.

"Bri…" she growled between kisses.

They were roughly interrupted by the doorbell ringing. She froze, pressing her hand against his chest to push him back. "Crap."

"Ignore it."

"No." The doorbell rang again, longer this time. She wasn't expecting anyone, so it was probably the UPS man again, leaving packages for her crazy neighbor whom she had long suspected of running some sort of secret mail order scam.

"Leave it…" He sighed as she got up, pulling down her shirt and pressing the button of the speakers.

"Hello?"

"Liv, hey, it's Amanda." _Shit._ "I just thought I'd swing by to pick up that book. But if now's not a good time, I can come back."

"No, no, it's fine, come on up." She made a gesture to Brian to go hide somewhere, but he obviously didn't understand vague hand motions.

"Rollins?"

"Yep." She walked over to the shelf, grabbing the thick volume with the awful cover where it lay stacked on top of a bunch of other books she had forgotten she had. She was supposed to return this a while ago, but kept forgetting to take it to work.

Brian finally got off his ass, studying the book in her hand with a curious grin on his face. "Twenty-five Acts? Never would have guessed you were into that kind of stuff."

"You know perfectly well I borrowed it for a case last month." She hurriedly brushed some stray popcorn off the couch, hiding it in the pot of the green plant he had given her with the words "your apartment looks dead".

"Oh, sure…"

"Brian…can you just go into the bedroom, please?" His relaxed attitude was annoying to no end. This was her colleague coming over unannounced, and SVU was like Gossip Girl with boys.

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted her and slowly strolled over to her bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him just in time.

"Amanda" she greeted the younger woman brightly, a little too brightly, judging from her stunned expression. "Come in."

"Sorry, I hope I'm not interrupting." Her eyes wandered to the empty bowl of popcorn and the two half-empty beers on the coffeetable. "Did you watch the game?"

"Yeah." She ran one hand through her hair. "Twenty in a row, huh? That's something."

"Who would have thought? He's never done more than eleven, and isn't he, like, 40 years old?" She smiled apologetically when she realised the touchiness of the age comment. "I mean-"

"Hey, I'm not about to start a pro career in sports." At this very moment, she liked Rollins, with her cheeks flushed from the baseball excitement. "Just didn't know you were a Mets girl."

"I'm an anything girl" she replied, rubbing her palms against her jeans. Olivia didn't know if it was the admission or the fact that she was standing in her messy living room that was making her uncomfortable. They had been paired more often lately, with Nick asking to rotate. On second thought, maybe the cause of the discomfort was the toilet that flushed right at that moment. _Asshole_.

Amanda pretended she hadn't heard, and hey, this could be so much worse if it were Nick standing here in her place. She simply took the book and apologised once again for bothering Olivia on her day off.

"No worries. Thanks for lending me the book." She sincerely hoped her colleague only owned it for research purposes. She didn't want to know.

The younger detective turned to leave, but not without flashing her a knowing smile over her shoulder, and if she were the sort of girl who winked, she would probably have done that. "Good for you, Liv."

Ugh. She could just imagine Fin being the unwilling recipient of this little anecdote.

Brian peeked out through the bedroom door the second the front door closed. "Is the coast clear?"

"Was that really necessary?" She crossed her arms, giving him her best stern look. He wouldn't get out of this one by acting cute. He was a little too 1old for that.

"What? Oh…when nature calls…" He approached her, smiling apologetically. "What's the big deal? It's not like Amaro caught us in bed. Rollins now knows you enjoy watching sports and have a social life. Who cares!"

"I just like to keep my work life and my social life separate."

"Since when?"

"Since always. Look, maybe it's different because you're a guy, but if you're a woman, an unmarried woman, it's always like there's something wrong with you and people are trying to figure out what's what."

"So if your female colleague caught you leading a perfectly ordinary private life, that would somehow make you a little less _perfect_?" The smile had fled from his face, and she couldn't believe he actually managed to be annoyed with her now, when she had called dibs on being pissed.

She hated how he threw that one word at her, the nasty bit of envy it carried. "What, did you expect me to invite her in so we could have a dinner party, sipping cocktails and talking about the stock market?"

"No, I just didn't expect you to shove me into the closet!" He downed the rest of his beer in one gulp, setting the bottle down forcefully. "You should have seen your face, the panic at being seen with me-"

"Don't be melodramatic."

"-your dumbass, dirty secret beat cop…"

"Oh, don't start that again." She was tired of his self-deprecating, self-pity parade, because nothing she said could ever make it better. "This has nothing to do with that."

"Then how come you're so embarrassed by me?" Anger had switched to hurt in an instant as he faced her empty-handed, his palms turned outward in a "give me something" manner.

How come, indeed? There were a million good reasons to keep their relationship, if this was where this was headed, a secret. The DA to start with, their involvement in the same (past) case, the fact that he had inofficially shared intel on his UC case with them, the fact that he would have to work hard and stay squeaky clean to get his shield back. He had to know that. There was David, too, and the way everyone would be talking about her as the one who set her eyes on inappropriate targets. But that wasn't it. There was something about this that scared her profoundly, something about the 13 year gap and second chances and making up for lost time. If she let it become too real, the stakes became higher. If this was happening under prying eyes, so would the eventual break-up. Again. "I just…I'm not good with this stuff, okay? I haven't done this in a while. A long while."

"Well, me neither."

She threw him a doubtful look, but he stood up to it. "I mean, for real. A longer…thing."

She nodded slowly. There was another part of her that actually could not imagine what this would look like in the daylight, at the precinct's Christmas party, for instance. Brian wasn't exactly into small talk and socialising with lawyers and suits. What kind of couple would they make? In her head, she could hear Elliot's voice pointing out all the ways this was doomed, subtly pricking at her self-doubt and his flaws. _Elliot._ It had been a long-term habit of hers to keep any romantic pursuits hidden from him for as long as possible, because he claimed to be "happy for her" yet then proceeded to trample all over it with comments and displays of his own manly superiority. Because that was the kind of functional, platonic partners they had been. At least Elliot wasn't around for this. The fleeting sense of relief over this made her sad. She couldn't keep herself shut off from the world around her.

"Can we just lay low for a little while longer?" she asked. "I need to take this slow." The words didn't seem to mean much, considering that she had seen him at his most vulnerable, and he seemed to know what her next move would be sometimes before she made it.

"Whatever" he shrugged. What kind of a lame-ass answer was that?

"Whatever? That's it?"

"Well, what am I supposed to say, Liv? You tell me. You've made up your mind. Lucky for you, I got practice at laying low. It's cool." He turned away from her, his hand on the handle of the bedroom door. "I'll just go grab my stuff so there's no _evidence _of me around your apartment."


	16. Priority

They never mentioned their fight again, obviously, just like they never discussed the future, the past or the dark things they'd seen that kept them up at night. Maybe that was for the best. Or maybe it was bullshit. She did notice, however, that something had shifted between them, that they had grown somehow more cautious, not committing to too many meetings and leaving without a conversation in the morning, their belongings in tow. The weeks were starting to blend into each other as the leaves changed colours, punctuated only by the progress (or lack thereof) in cases. She made sure not to complain about her heavy load of work too much, because there was always that bit of doubt that he might be jealous of it – and she couldn't have that, yet another man who couldn't handle it if she was successful at something. When she asked about his shifts, he would grow evasive or tell her that things were fine, probably because he didn't want to seem jealous or pathetic. Part of the appeal of being with him was that they didn't need to have any sort of big discussion about this stuff. They had a silent understanding. He got how important the job was to her, because it mirrored his own lifestyle. That was a rare thing, she had learned, someone who didn't need to come first at all times, or didn't expect her to understand that his career was obviously more important than hers. She could use abbreviations with him, heuristic shortcuts, and she didn't need to justify why she had been working at SVU for over a decade, which always seemed to imply a degree of "what the hell is wrong with you?". It didn't scare him or fascinate him morbidly. It just was what it was: her business.

But at what point did two people who each lead their own lives simply begin to live two separate lives beside each other? She had no idea. That would be something to figure out later, with time, at a more settled point when they would be able to foresee the future.

They were flipping through the channels aimlessly, when his attention was caught by the news headline "Manor Hill apologises for decades of abuse". "Hey, wasn't that your case?"

"Um, yes." He wasn't technically supposed to know that, but although she had never dropped names or shared excessive details, there were only so many elite schools with sexual abuse scandals on the local news at the same time. It had been a drawn out process, full of the kind of soft persuasive work and legal grey areas that Barba hated.

"You got him to admit to it in public? That's great!"

"It was a team effort with the DA's office."

"But you were so worried about that one, up until last week, they were going with the whole 'one black sheep' story, right?"

"Yeah, well, they had no choice at this point." She scratched at a small stain in her black jeans with her thumbnail. Seeing Lennox and, in particular, Forrester own up to not only individual failures, but to the _school's_ failure as an institution that orchestrated massive cover-ups, had been a satisfying moment – but it was just that, one moment in history. One moment of "sorry" couldn't undo the way the former students' lives had been altered forever, the lives that had been lost, no matter how much they had emphasized that it was the start of a healing process. Rather than a victory, this felt like the least awful of a set of possible outcomes. More and more cases tended to feel like that.

He shook his head. "Why aren't you happier about this?"

"I'm pleased, it's just…it's been a rough case. In terms of getting convictions, it's hopeless."

"But they owned up to it in public, you know they'll never recover from that. The backlash will hit them hard. And the victims, I mean, this could be the first time they hear someone believe them."

She didn't need him to explain the dynamics of child sexual abuse to her. "I know, I was there."

"You didn't tell me about this."

She gave him a cautioning look, the sort of look that was supposed to say "come on, I thought we had a good thing going here". "Boundaries, remember?"

"Screw boundaries. This is good news."

She forced a tight smile "Yeah."

"You know you can tell me about stuff like that, right? What am I gonna do, blab about it to Romanski and the squad of heroes?"

"I know. But can we maybe not watch a recap of the whole thing?" She gestured at the TV, where some self-proclaimed expert was explaining how this could all really be attributed to "the times", with feminism and the sexual liberation movement to blame. Because man, in the old days, having sex with kids was just fine.

"Got it."

* * *

[I'm bored.]

She peeked at her display in the darkness, reducing the brightness settings because the blue and white light hurt her eyes. [I'm asleep.]

[Clearly not.]

[Well done Sherlock. Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?]

[Nope. Watchdog duty tonight. I'd need more training working as a bouncer.]

[Better get around to watching then]

[Nothing to watch]

[You working the next few days?]

[Supposed to be. Don't know how I'll get here though if they close the tunnels. Bridges will be jammed.]

[They'll shut down the subway too. We're in a statewide state of emergency…]

[I know, hard to miss. But I doubt they'll deploy the National Guard to watch a courthouse]

[The courts will be closed.] She didn't like the sound of this at all. What was the point in sending officers to an empty building? Surely, they had bigger problems to handle right now. She was fully prepared for being unable to get to work come Monday, and to be hit with a load of cases when she would be back on duty. There was something about general chaos that seemed to disable the regular rules and inhibitions, particularly if you had people crowded in shelters. She didn't want to know how many preventable sexual offences that would lead to – and how many would go unreported.

[That Sandy's a real bitch]

[Seriously, are you sure you'll be working?]

[Aw why, you worried about me?]

[Don't be an ass.] Did everything have to be a joke to him, with the way everyone was panicking about this storm and buying up supplies at the stores?

[Might be sent to do emergency patrols instead.] That actually sounded more plausible.

[Stay safe.]

[Always.]

* * *

[You ok?]

[Phone's off so I assume you're busy. Get in touch when you can.] There were a million explanations for why he wasn't replying, the fact that he was working among them, the likelihood that his phone battery had died being another. Even though she was one of the lucky households who still had power, the flow of information on the different districts wasn't exactly good. She had no idea how many people were actually hurt, and how much of this was general panic at the lack of infrastructure and information. Being cooped up at home like this with nothing she could do to help was driving her crazy. She felt like she should be volunteering somewhere, but she didn't know where; the streets were flooded and who knew what was next. She would donate some money when the time came. Nick had called her earlier, and she was relieved to hear that he was okay although his house was a little rough for the wear. She had offered that he could crash at her place if he needed to, if he could actually make it here, but of course, he had declined the offer. That had been one more failed attempt to be of use.

[Bri? One word's enough.] She hated to be such a nag, because it wasn't her at all, but she couldn't help herself. There was something about watching a man die in an ambulance that made you suspect that it could happen again (but it was unlikely, really, really unlikely). She knew he wouldn't do this to her for no reason, so it was pretty clear that he _couldn't _reply. So sending more texts was absolutely pointless. It was just that she had to do something besides sitting at home and coming up with theoretical triage plans for how to prioritise cases for when she actually could get back to the office. At least Brian was doing something useful, although she secretly hoped that didn't entail playing the hero. Somehow, this was what their relationship seemed to come back to, this crisis management drama of texts and secrets and unavailability.

* * *

"_You_…!" There didn't seem to be an insult appropriate to express how she felt about this, when he had the gall to show up like a damn mirage at her doorstep that morning after days without a word.

"Liv-"

She pulled him into a wordless hug, feeling their mutual relief wash over her as he held her tightly, his fingers splayed on her back. He felt sweaty and clammy, but he was here. "Where the hell have you been?"

He pulled back, keeping one hand on her arm. "I was assigned to Franklin Avenue on shelter duty as emergency back-up. Took me ages to get back here."

"And you couldn't have let me know?" She was aware that they had emergency cell phone charging at all the major shelters, but this was just like him, getting lost in whatever he was doing. Mr. Unavailable. "I left you a hundred messages."

"Liv, you have no idea, it's chaos out there. I'm sorry, I haven't slept in days, I…honest."

She took him in. It was obvious he was telling the truth from his miserable appearance, the stained uniform that he hadn't apparently gotten a chance to change out of, the look of utter exhaustion. "You haven't been home at all."

"No, like I said, I just got back and I wanted to…see you." Her anger dissipated like a bubble of hot air.

"Well, come in." She grabbed his hand and led him into the living room, sitting him down on her cluttered couch. "You look like hell. You want some…coffee, food, anything?"

"No, I, um…" He kept holding on to her hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. "I'm good."

She touched his cheek, running her hand along the unshaved stubble. "You had me worried there, babe."

He leaned against the sofa sideways, lazily dangling his arm over the back. "Sorry. It's good to see you. Shit…the city's such a mess. I got vomit on my shoes from this pregnant lady who kept panicking thinking she was gonna give birth, and I kept trying to get her medical attention, but they were kind of busy with actual emergencies, so here I am, thinking what the hell am I gonna do if she gives birth now? I'm not a paramedic, I don't know the first thing about that. She didn't, thankfully, but still, I'm running back and forth between holding her hand and calming down some jackasses complaining about how sleeping on a mattress on the floor is substandard for them. At the same time, someone thinks it's a good idea to overrun a women's homeless shelter with groups of angry young men, and before I know what's what, a civil war is about to break out over who gets control of the only men's room in the whole place. Which, by the way, is overflowing because people can't figure out how to flush…"

She let him ramble on for the moment, patiently sitting with it. It sounded like a stressful job, like sad fates and ruined existences, but she couldn't fail to miss the hint of excitement in his voice. A part of him had enjoyed this, that same risk-seeking, pimp spying part that made him forget about everything else the second he got a real job to do. And that was attractive in a sense, but infuriating in another way. You weren't supposed to take pleasure in other people's tragedy. You weren't just supposed to forget everything else completely. Once a UC cop, always a UC cop.


	17. Stakeout

_Author's Note:__ Thank you, thank you, thank you again for the reviews! Still love you and them. So, this chapter…I had it all done yesterday morning, but then certain people distracted me with Nick feels so I had to add something late last night. Also: Idiot alert!_

* * *

Oh no. If Brian's face when he met her at the door wasn't a dead giveaway, she realised her mistake the second she stepped into the apartment to see his "friend" (friend? friend!) Ray sprawled out on the couch, his feet on the table as they watched what looked to be an old basketball game, circa 1996 – in other words, the most mundane activity possible. "Oh."

The man gave her a wide grin which revealed that he was chewing on a piece of gum open-mouthed, and wiped his palms on his pants. "Hey, darling, nice to see you again."

"Hello, Raymond."

"I'm good with Ray."

"I'm good with Raymond."

A confused expression crossed his features for a second, then he chuckled. "Sassy. I like it." His gaze wandered up and down her body, coming to rest on her cleavage, and she instantly wished she hadn't changed out of her work outfit into a cowl-necked, blue top with a lower neckline. There was something about this guy that made you feel like his eyes alone could leave sticky fingerprints on your skin. "Come to join the game?"

"No."

"No." Brian and her said it at the same time, and she frowned at him for it, because way to make it clear that he was happy to get rid of her. He was standing behind the sofa where his buddy couldn't see him, and gave her an apologetic shrug, motioning at the bedroom to indicate that Ray was not a good audience for this conversation.

"I just need to speak to Brian for a minute, so excuse us…"She walked ahead and he trailed behind her. The last thing they heard before shutting the door behind them was Ray's suggestion that he didn't know "how long it takes you guys", but that they had better make it under eight minutes or they would miss Air Jordan's triple double. Good God, was he 12 years old?

"Sorry, didn't know you were coming over."

"Are you kidding me? We set this date a week ago." He was the one who had insisted that they hadn't been out on an actual date in far too long, suggesting in a half-joking, half-touchy manner that they could outsource their meetings to the Bronx as well if she wasn't going to be caught with him in public. So she had made time for it, leaving the office in a punctual fashion, going home to get ready. She had styled the lengths of her hair for ages only to give it a (not so) "natural" swing. She had been looking forward to it. This wasn't a vague "hey, let's maybe hook up later" date, this was a date-date, going out for dinner, the whole deal.

He hung his head. "Right, right, I just thought…we usually confirm, like, the night before."

"No, if we can't make it, we cancel the night before like normal people." She would really appreciate it if he could be an adult for once.

"You look nice" he said regretfully.

"Don't even…have you ever considered keeping a calendar? They come with your phone now, you know."

"Sorry, I screwed up, it's just that Ray called me earlier and he was really upset."

Somehow, that stretched her imagination beyond its natural limits. "He looks fine to me."

"His girlfriend just dumped him."

"Can't imagine why."

"Liv, I know he's a bit…" He made a vague hand gesture that didn't actually express a thing. "But I owe him. I can't just kick him out."

"Yeah, obviously not." She sighed. "Fine. Do your thing. I'll see you when I see you. Don't forget to confirm."

"You're mad."

"I'm not _mad_, I'm just disappointed." She hated how he always made her feel like she was being difficult, and he got away with acting like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Maybe he should resolve that issue with his mother, not her.

"Call you later?"

"If I pick up. I don't know, I can't plan that far ahead." She left him in the bedroom, walking out in what she hoped looked like a cool, confident manner. (While secretly hoping he was watching her do it, regretting what he was missing out on.)

It evidently didn't, because Ray immediately took his feet off the coffeetable, leaning forward. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Not at all."

"You know, you two should really work on your communication skills. I'm happy to help."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil. We'll get right on that."

* * *

"Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

Barba glanced up from his papers, giving her a long, hard look. "Will you accept no as an answer?"

"Yes."

"Because nothing good ever comes of those. 'So hypothetically speaking, if I had bagged some drugdealer's money', 'hypothetically speaking, if I had hit someone with a car and driven off'…my second year of law school, my cousin Jimmy comes to me one morning asking what would happen if he, hypothetically speaking, had gotten drunk and switched some street signs around, with his friends snapping pictures of it. Next thing I know, he expects me to give him a freebie at the Bronx courthouse. I'm not Legal Aid, Olivia."

"What a nice anecdote. Can I get to the point?"

He indicated for her to take a seat, folding his hands in front of him.

"If a member of law enforcement had an, um, personal connection with a potential witness in a court case, would they have to disclose it?"

Barba wasn't a man who was easily rattled. Even so, his face darkened as she knew his mind jumped through all her current cases, wondering which one he would have to crisis manage. "How personal?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off immediately. "Forget I asked. Is this a legal question or an ethical one?"

"Both, I suppose." The question had been at the tip of her tongue for a while now, and with Ganzel's trial moving closer, there was a limit on how long she could keep on postponing it without arousing suspicion. She couldn't exactly ask when he was doing his actual trial prep without him catching on to what she was talking about. No, better to do it well in advance.

"Legally, no, as long as there is no professional misconduct, i.e. romantic involvement between the investigating officer and the witness while the case is ongoing. Ethically, I would advise him or her to disclose it to the ADA, because let me tell you, _they_ do not want to be surprised by this in court."

"Could it pose a risk to the case?"

"Depends on the circumstances." He gave her a stern look again, the type of look people were supposed to give you over the rim of their glasses. "I don't need to tell you, Liv, that getting involved with a witness is a tremendously bad idea."

"Oh, I'm not asking as…the investigating officer."

"Right. Hypothetically speaking."

"And the witness is not that material to the case, she…he…might not even be called to testify. There is no ethical dilemma."

Barba leaned back, crossing his arms. He clearly did not want to hear another word of this. "Then there's no question."

* * *

Nick and her had been staking out Jeannie's place for well over an hour, sitting quietly in the car as the windows steamed up from their breaths, the rain pattering against the windshield. Every so often, they would let the engine run for a few minutes with the heat and windshield wipers on at full blast, and it was the only relief from this awful humidity and cold that crept into her bones. This was a frustrating waste of time and resources, but the only option they had available to them unless they wanted to rely on the Feds completely. Nick had made some comment about this being like "old school cop work", and had almost seemed excited at the prospect in the beginning, as if he had gotten to play the part of a police officer on TV. But that had been before the coffee had grown cold in their paper cups and Jeannie being a no show. Somehow, giving up on their pursuit was harder once that they had started. She remembered this from her long stake-outs with Elliot, that whole thing about how the longer you waited, the more invested you got in the waiting itself, because you didn't want to leave two minutes before your suspect arrived. Any minute now.

"She's not gonna show up." Her words cut through the silence between them like a knife. "How about we try down where they actually do the business?"

"She's gonna come home eventually."

"Eventually." She wiped at the window with the sleeve of her jacket, creating a small, round hole to peek through. "This is a waste of time."

"Yeah, well, it's the job we got. You're welcome to leave if you have something better to do."

She glared at him. "Anything is better than this."

"Pleasure hanging out with you, too." Beneath all his stiffness, she could see his mouth twitching deceptively as he kept his eyes focused on the windshield. Not that they could actually see much out of it.

"Always." She was suddenly reminded of Elliot and her waiting for a perp to show up outside a gay bar years ago, and how she had teased him about his distinct discomfort with the setting (which he obviously wouldn't admit to). The whole thing had quickly turned into banter about his obviously not being gay, and that had led to…well…_thoughts _that made it rather difficult to stay focused on the job at hand with the way he smirked at her. The memory filled her with a strange emptiness. It didn't hurt as much as it once did, but the dull ache was there, the sense of betrayal. _Semper fi_, my ass.

Nick picked up his cup, took one skeptical look at the brown liquid inside, where the milk and coffee had separated somewhat, and set it down again. "So what are you doing for Christmas, anyway?"

"Christmas? That's ages away."

"Not that long. A few weeks."

As if she could forget, with the way decorations were now starting to go up in September at some stores. But she truly hadn't given it much thought. Christmas just wasn't that big of a deal to her –she liked to tell herself- and she tended to avoid everything that screamed holiday cheer in her face. Her Christmases were non-traditional, filled with afternoon walks, bars and late movie showings. Except when Elliot…but that trail of thought led nowhere good. Christmas didn't matter that much, after all, unless you had kids. More often than not, she volunteered to hold down the fort, tending to depressed victims of domestic violence after their partners had had one too many. Happy holidays. "I don't know. No plans. You?"

"I got Zara until Christmas Eve, but Maria gets her Christmas Day. I suggested we could just pretend to be happy for the kid's sake for one single day, but she thought it would confuse her, so…"

"I'm sorry" she replied sympathetically. This season was hard on Nick. In previous years, he had probably spent the weeks before Christmas secretly buying gifts for his daughter while his wife was away, trying to create some sort of festive spirit and telling her stories about Santa.

"Hey, Christmas Eve is something, right? And with us both feeling guilty, Zara will probably get twice as many presents as usual." He gave her a questioning look. "You're not gonna be working again this year, are you? Gotta relax sometime, Liv."

"Like I said, I don't know." Oh, if only he would stop looking at her like she was some piteous spinster who would be sitting at home crying into her eggnog. "Might spend it with a friend."

"A friend?"

Big. Mistake. The only reason it had slipped out was to stop him from feeling obliged to make some sort of offer. She actually had no idea what Brian usually did for Christmas, or if he acknowledged the holiday at all. In all likelihood, he would be celebrating with some sort of loving, 30 people family who fought over who got to carve the turkey. "Yep."

"Who?"

"None of your business."

"Is it loverboy?"

She cringed at his tone, and from the smug smirk on his face, she could tell that yes, either Rollins had definitely told on her, or Amaro's detective skills weren't half bad after all. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Very convincing. So all that texting, leaving work on time, I assume you've been doing some after school…research?"

"I am so not having this conversation with you." What was he going to do, give her the "better safe than sorry" condom talk?

"What? I think it's great if you've found-"…love in a hopeless place? _Oh please._

"Nick! Drop it!"


	18. Perfection

_Author's Note:__ I'll keep it brief: Thanks for the reviews, love waking up to them, etc. In response to a question: Yes, this will continue for a while longer as I have the last chapter all written out in my head and this is my procrastination story. This chapter has a lovey-dovey vanilla warning to it. I'm making myself a bit nauseous here, but there are very few opportunities to do this with Bensidy, if we are being realistic. But fear not, trouble will return soon. ;D_

* * *

This was not what she had envisioned when she had longed for the ocean. In her dreams, the water had been clear and turquoise, the sand white and fine as powder under the soles of her feet. This was not what the pictures had promised her, and she knew she shouldn't have listened to Brian when he had told her to stop looking for the one tripadvisor review that complained about the speck of dust someone had spotted while running their hand along the pipe behind the toilet seat for unknown reasons.

"Stop making yourself miserable" he remarked now as they treaded into the water gingerly. "It'll be fine."

"Riptides, Bri…deadly riptides."

"Not around this season, the receptionist said. Look, there's people swimming all the way out there." Like an adventurous kid, he seemed ecstatic at the prospect of conquering the seas, ignoring the part about potentially drowning. He had practically fallen in love at first sight with the young, perky travel agent at the reception who had mistaken them for a couple on their honeymoon –insert awkward laughter here- and handed them brochures for snorkeling with stingrays or diving with sharks.

It wasn't that the thought of diving into the cool, salty water was unappealing. This beach lined by palm trees was gorgeous by all standards, with the waves breaking multiple times along the flat coastline as far as the eye could see. The sand was almost the same shade of white as the photographs had shown, but it was windy, and on the whole, the ocean had been taken over by surfers, not your usual sunbathing, splashing crowd. For a New Yorker, this was a bizarre way to spend Christmas morning – or, possibly, the best way. They had finally reached their destination late last night after a series of very confused taxi drivers had failed to get them to their hotel. (It hadn't helped that Brian had been ready to pick a fight with them over this.) They hadn't even unpacked, falling into bed and going straight to sleep, only to wake up early to the prospect of coffee, a breakfast buffet and a day with absolutely no obligations.

The edge of the water was lined with tiny seashells and pebbles in a small belt, which tended to somehow suck your feet under whenever the wave receded. With the pull of the water, her legs were unsteady on this slippery ground, and standing on broken seashells that moved under her wasn't exactly comfortable. Due to the strong tide, the water was opaque, and she couldn't see clearly where exactly it would get deep or just how high those waves that broke out there were. "Ugh" she suppressed a yelp as the cold water suddenly reached up to her stomach when the remnants of a higher, broken wave rolled in, making her hop on the balls of her feet.

"Want me to hold your hand?" he asked teasingly, because being slightly taller was an advantage here.

She smirked at him, lowering herself into the water fully to make the point that she was actually a skilled, relatively fearless swimmer. "Only so I can knock you over." She backed into the water, glancing over her shoulder to be on the look-out for the breaking point of the waves. It felt fantastic to float like that, to be pulled this way and that by the water, once she got used to the strength of it. This vacation was worth every cent.

* * *

They returned to their hotel after hours of swimming, sunbathing and reading in blissful silence –except for his regular interruptions- to the point where her eyes actually hurt a little from the brightness. As she walked into the much cooler room and her slightly sandy feet spread dirt all over the beige, shiny tiles, part of her felt as if she were still swaying in the ocean, a sure sign of too much sun exposure. Who knew that vacationing took some getting used to?

"You can shower first if you want." He sat down on the bed after turning on the fan, and she bit back a remark about the sand he would get all over the white sheets. They were on vacation after all.

"That's very gentlemanly of you." She opened the sliding door and hung up her towel on the rack on the balcony, shaking it out beforehand.

"Take the offer while you can." He had laid back, spreading his arms and successfully taking up the entire bed diagonally.

"Actually...I nearly forgot something." She opened her –still half unpacked- suitcase and pulled out the flat plastic bag she had strategically placed between her clothes to protect it. Now that she held it in her hands, she felt incredibly silly for it, but she wasn't going to take it home in her bag again. At least she hadn't gift-wrapped it. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea here. "Merry Christmas."

He sat up abruptly, watching her approach warily. "We said no gifts" he warned her, visibly stressing out at this. They had mutually agreed that holidays weren't their thing, that going to an expensive hotel together was their gift to themselves, and that there was no point in bringing extra baggage.

"It's not exactly a convertible."

"Babe…"

"Relax. I wasn't expecting a gift."

"But this isn't fair."

She smirked at his face. "Yeah, well, I don't want it, so you better take it."

He took the bag carefully, removing the old vinyl record from it. When he saw what it was, his expression fluctuated between awe and extreme discomfort, as if he really needed to run to the bathroom. But there was no need to make a big deal out of this.

It hadn't exactly been in her plans, but one day, she had found herself walking past an old record store and something about the window display had reminded her of his meticulously organised collection. When she had gone inside, her eyes had immediately fallen on the Sweeney Todd recording, and she had recalled his ridiculous rant at the TV about Johnny Depp being the worst singer ever, complaining that the actor should stick to pirate movies and not butcher Sondheim's "masterpiece". Truthfully, sitting through a musical about a serial killer hadn't exactly been her idea of Friday night entertainment, but it was personal, it was him, and a part of her liked being able to get a gift for someone. It was a nice change. They had tried to do an office secret Santa a few years ago, but she didn't know what had been worse, trying to find a gift for Fin or receiving a mug from Munch that read "If this is coffee, please bring me some tea, but if this is tea, please bring me some coffee". Or Elliot telling her that he had gotten stuck with Cragen and trying to persuade her to tell him what to get for their boss, while also obviously trying to figure out who had gotten her and swap with them. No one actually seemed to take any pleasure in the whole exchange of presents.

"I…this is…awesome." Brian smiled at her, an embarrassed half-smile that turned into a beam when he studied the cover. "You didn't have to-"

"'There's a hole in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it'" she quoted at him, to the best of her memory. "Just the right thing for Christmas."

He clutched at his heart. "You remember… Don't forget the part about how it's 'filled with people who are filled with shit'."

"There's no accounting for taste. Just promise me we don't have to listen to that cannibal song over and over again. Or, better, don't listen to it in front of me at all."

"Hey…" He caught her arm as she was about to walk off to grab that shower, holding her back until she was standing in front of him. "Thank you."

"Welcome." She bent down to kiss him and he drew her close, his hand getting tangled in her wet hair as she wound up straddling him, her short sundress riding up to her hips. She could taste the salt on his lips. Maybe she didn't need the shower that badly right now.

He placed a tender line of kisses along her jaw, down to her neck. "Best…gift…ever. I feel bad now."

"That was the point. Couldn't get you a gift just to be nice."

* * *

They remained on the beach even after the sun had set, despite the annoying mosquitoes that, for some unfair reason, seemed to love her more than him, attacking her bare feet where they touched the sand. The horizon still showed an orange line where the sun had gradually disappeared, with soft, pink streaks leading up into the blue evening sky, which was lined with ripples of white clouds. The only sound around were the waves, which had calmed down by now, the cries of the seagulls…and, of course, the loud, tasteless music blasting from an adjacent hotel somewhere along the beach.

She was sitting between his legs with her feet stretched out in front of her, while his legs were bent, their arms resting on his knees as he leaned against the tree. This position couldn't possibly be comfortable for him, but he didn't seem to mind, and as long as he didn't open his mouth to object, she was just fine with it. "You know, this evening doesn't suck" he murmured close to her ear, and she could hear the warm smile in his voice.

"I've had worse."

He ran his hands down the outside of her arms once, then lowered them and wrapped his arms around her body. She was oddly okay with this, not feeling trapped at all. Hell, she could get used to this. "So how do you usually spend the holidays?" He had been so on board with this trip that she had never actually asked him if he had other plans. If the two phone calls from his mother today had been any hint, someone wasn't entirely happy there.

"You mean when I wasn't…off somewhere? Uh, well, I have this cousin, Meghan, who has kind of a big house ever since she married that gel-haired dude. So we usually all go to her place, and every year, she complains that she's not hosting…but then she always caves."

"Tell me more."

"Oh, you know, we have a big dinner and everyone feels sick to their stomachs. Her kids spend the afternoon trying to get me to show them my gun. I'm forced to watch the latest Disney movie with them. My mom gives Meghan unwanted parenting advice. Someone always ends up fighting. The usual."

"Sounds nice." This was how she imagined regular people spent the holidays, people who had families.

"It is. But so is this." He awkwardly kissed the back of her head.

She scooted down and leaned back against him, until her head came to rest somewhere between his shoulder and chest. "It's good to get away."

"Yeah, sometimes…sometimes you forget there's pretty things" he said serenely.

She laughed, ruining the moment. "That's very poetic for you." He was right. Something about this setting, about the beauty of the sunset and the sea made you feel reassuringly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It was as if everything else didn't matter quite so much. Life was simple, really.

"It helps that we haven't killed each other yet."

She patted his arm. "Give it another 24 hours."

"I'm glad we…" He stopped himself short. "I mean, it's not been the greatest year, but…this…was good timing."

Wow, beaches made him sentimental. "I agree."

_Timing._ It was funny how these things worked out. If they had run into each other again a couple of years ago, then most likely, nothing would have happened. But a series of detours, coincidences and experiences had somehow led them here. For now. She was so happy, so safe in her happiness, that it almost scared her, because this clearly couldn't last. It was the momentary kind of joy that made you want to freeze the moment so you could keep drawing on it when you needed relief later, the kind of joy that almost ruined itself because you knew that things could never, ever get this good again.


	19. History

The new year started out full of hope. Maybe it was the residual relaxation that she had taken away from the Bahamas like a holiday tan, or maybe it was just that things seemed so suspiciously, deceptively _good_ for once. It turned out that all those people who had told her to take her days off and go on vacation over the years had had a point, which seriously shook her image of the world. Nick had actually been complimentary for once as she returned, telling her she looked great, which she took as evidence that she had been sorely missed. They were as busy as ever at the precinct, but she didn't mind being occupied. Her batteries had been recharged in the tropical sun, and there was that blissful feeling of anything being possible that tended to go with resolutions and new beginnings. It was the season when the snow didn't yet drive everyone mad, and before the green of plants could be missed too badly. She would sometimes find herself daydreaming about those afternoons on the beach, yearning for a nice rum cocktail whenever things got too hectic.

They had decided to go for a walk in the snow that afternoon, breathing in the sharp, dry winter air. But the world wasn't fluffy and soft, it was hard and filled with tiny crystals of ice, which hit you in the face due to the wind. So a few blocks and one charming Cassidy remark about how he was going to freeze his balls off later, they ended up at the coffee shop near her apartment, the one that had decided to distinguish itself from all the chains by offering strange matcha tea smoothie combinations and other curiosities, cuing Brian to point out that he wouldn't "try anything that looks like vomit in a cup". She laughed at him, enjoying her own private joke, since she could recall Nick saying something similar once and wow, wouldn't the two of them love to be on the same page about something?

"Ten Dollars for a muffin?!" Brian complained, a little too loudly, as they stood in the queue. "What's in them?"

The young woman in the yoga pants before them turned around, and pointedly replied: "Spelt flour and flaxseeds."

"Sounds delicious" he replied drily. He had a point. The muffins looked like they contained bird food. But did he always have to be like that in public?

She nudged him with her elbow. "What do you care? I've never seen you eat a muffin."

"Well, I might have today."

"Guess we'll never know."

They went about ordering their boring, plain coffees –organic! Guatemalan-Kenyan blend! brewed extra slowly!- and, predictably, waited for about ten minutes to get them behind a queue of people full of extra wishes. When they finally received their drinks, they were forced to squeeze in at a table in the corner, which they shared with a man in his 70s, who thought it was a great idea to spread out his newspaper everywhere and had clearly been sitting here for ages, judging from the empty, dried up mug in front of him. They gave him about three quarters of the round table, awkwardly sitting next to each other on the opposite side with their legs touching, with Brian trapped between her and the large window that faced the busy street. Their coats were draped over the backs of the small chairs, where her scarf predictably kept falling down. At least it wasn't freezing in here.

"See, isn't this nice?" he asked only half sarcastically, squeezing her hand under the table.

"Yeah, yeah, I give. It's not like I could focus on my reading anyway, thanks to someone." Somehow, her inviting him over –correction, telling him she could tolerate him hanging around on his day off as long as he didn't expect her to babysit him- had not been the most productive idea when she was trying to read up on the latest developments in partial DNA analysis. He was like the bad procrastination voice in her head that had been getting louder lately, telling her it was okay to let loose a little. _'Midlife crisis' _the more critical voice commented wistfully. _'Enjoy it while it lasts, because we both know this isn't you.'_

"Why are you doing all that reading, anyway? You've been doing this job for what, 25 years?"

"Not_ that_ long" she huffed.

"Long enough though."

"It's science, Bri. It changes."

"But that's what CSU is for." Now he was just arguing for the sake of arguing. She knew he wasn't as careless as he pretended, and that he actually kept up with all sorts of crazy technical developments in his spare time.

"You're welcome to stop eating my food and hang out at your place."

The old man across from them smirked at his newspaper, and she had the hidden suspicion that he had been "rereading" the same article ever since they had sat down at his table.

"Yeah, very generous of you to share your random collection of last night's take-out, coffee and veggie sticks."

"Um, yeah, I wouldn't eat those. They've been there a while." She sipped at her hot coffee, content to watch people rushing by outside, their scarves drawn up to cover their mouths.

"So whatever happened to Stabler after he quit the force?" The question came so out of the blue she nearly spit out her mouth full of hot liquid.

"What? Because…old veggie sticks?"

"Something like that." He said it pseudo-casually, and she pretended not to care, stirring her coffee. This was the second time he was bringing up Elliot like that, and it wasn't a coincidence. She hoped he had been more subtle in that undercover assignment of his.

"How would I know?"

"You don't keep in touch?"

"Nope."

"Not at all?"

Where was this sudden interrogation coming from? Somehow, being on vacation together for a week seemed to have blurred the lines here. This was not cool. She could only assume he had heard some sort of "talk" at work, although she couldn't imagine what would be discussed all the way out at a Bronx courthouse. She didn't want to imagine it. "When would I see him? At church with him and his ten kids?"

"What?" The expression on his face was priceless.

"Not literally. He only has five."

"Jeez…ever heard of contraception?"

"Ever heard of people wanting kids?" His response was actually pretty in line with her own thinking on the subject matter, but he didn't get to say that.

"Ha, that was planned?" The intimidation powers of sperm were remarkable, but apparently, even more amusing.

"Again, how would I know this? I wasn't exactly there." She was getting more fed up with this conversation by the minute. You couldn't have a pissing contest with someone who was absent, but for a moment, she could truly visualise it.

He shrugged. "Just curious."

"For the record, I don't keep tabs on Elliot's kids or Munch's girlfriends."

She had expected some quip about Munch's romantic conquests in return, but it didn't come. "Okay" he replied cautiously, looking at her seriously. "But you were…close, right?"

"I wouldn't call it that. I'd say we were partners for a really long time. So you get used to that." Why were they still talking about this? She never really discussed Elliot with anyone, so explaining their relationship to the man she was currently sleeping with wasn't high on her list of favourite activities. She would prefer it if everyone got that all this was in the past, no hard feelings, well wishes, peace to everyone and all. The past needed to be put to rest.

"He…was he an asshole to you or something?"

"God, Brian…" she protested, clutching her mug a little more tightly. "Are we playing 20 questions now? So how about you and those hookers?"

"What the hell?!"

Now that grabbed newspaper guy's attention, all thoughts of his reading forgotten as he blatantly sized them up.

"You wanna scoot a little closer, pal, so you can hear better?" Brian snapped angrily.

"Tsk." The older man got up from the table, folding his newspaper loosely and leaving as fast as he could, but not without throwing one disapproving glance back over his shoulder.

"He could have stayed, because I'm going." She picked up her scarf from the floor yet again, wrapping it around her neck before slipping into her coat. "I have reading to do, and I don't have time for…this." She gestured at the messy table.

"Suit yourself."

* * *

It took him about an hour, until darkness fell actually, to ring her doorbell. Typical. She had just curled up in the corner of the couch with her reading, finally able to focus again, and that was when he decided to come pick up his stuff, taking longer than necessary to rummage around her bedroom.

"I haven't hidden it, you know" she called from the kitchen, where she was pouring herself a glass of wine in the hope that it would make this chapter more interesting.

He shuffled out of her bedroom with a bundle of clothes messily stuffed into a plastic bag. It looked absolutely pathetic.

"So when will I see you?" she asked in a register that was supposed to be conciliatory, since neither of them was too great with the whole apology thing.

"I don't know." He rubbed his neck, tilting his head from one side to the other. "I'm on nightshifts all week and we're short-staffed again, so it could turn into doubles of 4 to 12, 12 to 8."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. Well, more money…"

She took a sip of her wine, then swirled it around the glass. "That's something."

"Listen." He hesitated, coming up to the kitchen counter and setting his plastic bag down on it. "I get that there are things that are off limits for both of us. So if we just don't talk about the past, I'm cool with that."

"Because I asked you a question, too?"

"No, just…it doesn't matter, does it? What's done is done. So let's just focus on the future."

"The future…" The word sounded intimidating to her.

"Or the present" he backtracked quickly, leaning forward on the counter towards her. "I'm good with the present. Let's take things slow."

She traced the rim of the glass with her thumb. "I like that."

'_You know, for people who are taking things slow, you are fretting about this whole thing an awful lot'_ the Elliot in her head said. But he didn't even sound like real Elliot, so he needed to get the hell out.

'_Men…'_ her mother said. _'It always comes down to one thing with them. It's okay for them to whore around, but the second they see you have a history, you're a slut.'_


	20. Family

_Author's Note:__ Chapter 20, wow! Time is going by fast and it almost makes me sad, because this story is so easy and fun to write. It will pick up in terms of drama soon. Thank you so much, as always, for your reviews and Twitter comments. They really make me smile and give me new ideas. And kudos to cheertennis12 for pointing out the red dress and demanding it be incorporated!_

* * *

If there was one thing they agreed on, it was that they would not, under any circumstances, do Valentine's Day. Hell, Christmas was hard enough, and the only reason she had gotten him that stupid gift in the first place (which he read way too much into) was that he had surprised her on her birthday with a bottle of fancy champagne a couple of weeks before. Now that obviously wasn't an actual gift, and neither one of them even liked champagne, but getting wasted in style was pretty damn special, considering she hadn't even mentioned her birthday to him, content to ignore it as every year. The only way he could have known was via some serious espionage or a freaky eidetic memory and, no offence, if he were destined for Mensa, that probably would have shown itself by now.

So instead of Valentine's, they were going to do a casual "pre-Valentine's" date, which was obviously an entirely different matter. Mostly because there were no heart-shaped balloons to be seen, so she could deal with that. And still, she conveniently put on that certain red dress, the one whose effect she knew perfectly well even though she hadn't worn it, ever. The one that had been a spontaneous splurge purchase when she had needed, so badly, to feel good about herself in those months when she was determined to rearrange her life. The red dress didn't fail her, producing a non-eloquent "wow…uh…you look so hot" response from a stunned Brian, who didn't look so badly himself in a suit once he dressed up in all seriousness and didn't insist on "keeping it real" by, say, untucking his shirt or loosening his tie.

Considering it was not a Valentine's Day date, they had really gone all out on this thing, splurging on a concert with drinks featuring local musicians, who seemed to be mostly into doing improvised plays on classical music – an odd choice for Brian, who was more of a haphazard alternative rock slash anything alternative sort of guy. But here he was, surprising her with his use of words such as "polyphonic" and commenting on the arrangements. He was clearly trying to impress, and she found it strangely endearing that he still felt the need to do that. But he also had a genuine interest in something, and she was surprised she hadn't picked up on that before, based on his record collection and his endless whining about how listening to music on your phone wasn't really listening to music.

"This guy can really improvise" he commented at the second piano player this evening, who was hacking away at the keys with a flourish that made it really hard to ignore him and carry on a normal conversation.

"Yeah, he's good." At least she supposed he was. It all sounded a bit disorganised to her, but he was fast, that much was certain. "Did you ever play an instrument?"

"Not really. A bit of guitar back in the day." He deliberately kept his eyes on the small podium with the piano on it.

"In a band?" She tried to picture it, but couldn't really come up with a long-haired version of Brian Cassidy.

"I wouldn't call it a 'band', it was just some friends rehearsing in a garage."

She grinned. "So there was a band."

He made a dismissive hand motion. "There wasn't; we didn't even have a name and we gave up after a few months due to artistic differences."

"Artistic differences" made it sound so serious. She tried to turn her laugh into a cough, but failed miserably at it. "Maybe you could have been a star."

"Maybe I still will be. What about you, you ever play anything?"

"Ha, no, I have zero musical talent."

"I can attest to that, that shower singing is not pretty."

"Why thank you." She had maybe hummed in the shower once or twice, but it hadn't been more than that, had it? It wasn't something she did all the time. "My mom, she didn't think much of pursuing things that wouldn't lead to anything, which is pretty ironic, considering she was into English Lit. Not exactly a safe job."

"NYPD is a pretty safe job."

"Yeah, she wasn't exactly pleased with that, either."

"Sounds like she would have been hard to please."

"You could say that." She took a sip of her red wine, studying the imprint her lipstick made on the rim of the glass. Although she hardly questioned her choice of occupation, she sometimes wondered just how much of all this came back to defiance, to wanting to be a different person, a distinct, autonomous entity from the major, the only adult in her life. To not be the accident that happened because her mother didn't get an abortion.

"But, I mean…" There was something sweet in how he hesitated, fumbling with the edge of the tablecloth. "…it's all led to this, right? You turned out pretty great."

"Oh, I know." She smiled, doing a very casual little hair flick and trying to focus on the music again, because that was what they were here for, right?

"You got any other family?"

"No, not really." She wasn't about to explain the whole half-brother, same rapist dad, different mother, rape suspect, second degree child kidnapping drama to him, which you could pretty much summarise under the headline "bad genes". She hadn't even thought about Simon in so long, it would have felt wrong to call him "family". But now Brian was giving her this pitying look, so she quickly added: "It is what it is. Brothers and sisters in blue, right?"

"As long as you don't betray them, then there's hell to pay" he replied grimly.

"Keeping up ethical standards isn't betraying them."

"'Keeping up ethical standards', sure, if that's what you wanna call it." He paused, joining in the applause for the pianist, who had just finished his piece and was making way for a saxophone player. "You always end up betraying one side or the other. And you pay for it."

This gave her pause. "You worried about the trial?" He never really mentioned it, and she had wondered privately if he was prepared for this, but whenever she asked him about it, all he ever told her was that it was weeks away still.

"You know anyone who likes testifying in court?"

"No, but this is…special circumstances."

"I know, all right?" He rubbed his freshly shaved chin. "Can we just enjoy the music and forget about it tonight?"

"Sure."

As it happened, things turned out differently, because halfway through the next performance, her phone buzzed over the music, leading her to rush outside into the cold without a coat, where she was informed by Nick that her presence was needed. Of course. Convenient timing, as usual.

When she returned to the table, Brian looked back at her with a sort of mild annoyance that betrayed no surprise whatsoever. "You gotta go?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. There was a stabbing and it looks like a major case."

"Yeah, yeah, go."

She put on her coat in a hurry, accidentally brushing against a disgruntled young woman behind her. "Call you later?"

He shrugged. "Whenever."

* * *

She did not call him later. Neither did she get around to contacting him at all over the next few days aside from one lame apologetic text (no reply), since they were crazy busy with the sexual abuse scandal and the fact that they only had days before Reggie would die. So before she knew it, days turned into more days and she found herself on the way to Cleveland with Bayard Ellis, who was the most pleasant travel company because he kept himself immersed in files and books during the entire journey, occasionally discussing details with her.

They were on an airport bus to the terminal before she pulled her phone out, switched it back into normal mode and began to formulate her guilt into words.

[So I'm back in Cleveland on a case.]

[Cleveland, OH?]

[Yes]

[Must be some case. With Amaro?]

Now that was none of his business. [No, with a lawyer.]

[Random. When are you coming back?]

[Don't know yet. Busy times. Will call you]

[kk]

"Plans that need shifting around?" Ellis asked, tucking his own phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket.

"Something like that."

The bus stopped abruptly, making people stumble forward, and they stepped outside into the cold air.

"It can be hard, with someone who is not in the same profession as us. They don't always understand."

"I think that's true for a lot of jobs" she replied vaguely, remembering his separation between work and private relationships sermon all too well.

"It makes it tempting to be with someone who understands. But that complicates things in the long run where boundaries become blurred. I don't just mean in terms of compromising cases, but it's not good to let work carry over into your private life, into your relationships."

"Just because someone works in the same field doesn't mean you spend all your time talking about work or breaking confidentiality." Although she wasn't keen to land on the David subject again, a part of her still gnawed at the fact that she believed she was right. Bayard had acted correctly, protecting his clients, but it wasn't like she and David had illegally exchanged information. He was wrong about that. They had gone to plays together, discussed the news, he had told her about his son. It had been wrong, perhaps, but not corrupt.

"I wasn't insinuating that you did." Oh, here they were, this was the thing he had been waiting to get off his chest. "I don't believe you did. That wasn't the point."

"I get it, really. But just in general, having personal relationships with people who understand your work doesn't mean everything carries over…not if you're careful."

He smiled his very small, understated smile that was undermined by the critical look in his eyes. "Let's agree to disagree."

"I always thought lawyers didn't do that. You win or lose."

"See, this is exactly why lawyers and cops shouldn't date."

"And dating outside the field, that's worked for you?"

"When I come home, I don't want to talk about the law. I want to hear how my daughter is doing in school, what's going on in the neighbourhood. I want to discuss the Inaugural Address."

"So do I." She and Brian were a whole different story from her and David. Despite the reckless beginnings last summer, they had become a model of caution. Talking about baseball, music and food hardly came back to their jobs. This didn't come naturally to them, but they were taking it slow, and she was getting it right this time. She really was. An irrational part of her wanted Ellis to validate that.

"That's nice to hear. So whatever happened to your brother?"

She was caught off guard by the question, mostly because this was the second time Simon had come up in some way over the past couple of weeks. "I don't really know." The admission was shameful. This was the kind of question people really should be able to answer.

"His term is going to be reconsidered soon. I thought I would be getting a call from him."

"He…is not the most responsible person about these things." She should have reminded him, she knew she should have. The truth was that he probably couldn't afford Bayard Ellis without her help, and in either case, Ellis was not a lawyer for family court. This was a case for someone else, and what were the chances that Simon was good at sorting this out on his own? Getting his term reduced would be an uphill battle, as he had been lucky to get a deal in the first place.

"No, I was under that impression."

"I tried keeping in touch, but once he got out and had to accept that things with Tracy were over, it became complicated." After three unreturned calls, she had given up, figuring that Simon would show up again at some point when he needed his ass saved again.

"You did what you could for him" Ellis stated matter-of-factly.

She had. And still, "doing what you could" often felt woefully incomplete. It felt deceptively close to failing.


	21. Nudity

_Author's Note:__ Happy Sunday, everyone! Thank you for the reviews, and I would love it if you could continue to let me know what you think. _

* * *

She had no idea what was going on. All she knew was that one moment, they were fine, and his fingers were drawing lazy circles on her skin as she lay in the crook of his arm, deceivingly close to dozing off. The next moment, he was pulling away, mumbling something about early mornings and slipping out of bed. Now that in and of itself wasn't that unusual –it wasn't like she desperately needed to cuddle after sex- but the switch was rather sudden. Something was off about how he had quietly held her, his lips brushing against the top of her head in a kiss. It had been strangely tender, even for him, after the urgency of what had come before, and now he was picking up his clothes from the floor without a word. Her head was heavy with impending sleep, exhausted in a good way, but even so, his absence beside her on the warm pillow felt odd.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting up and pulling the sheet up to her armpits.

"Yeah, yeah…go to sleep. I'll let myself out."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just gotta be in court early tomorrow."

"Court?!" The single word rapidly pulled her out of her daze, like an automatic switch propelling her into work mode. All she could make out was his moving shadow, slipping into his pants.

"Just for a practice run-through with Barba."

"And you were going to tell me this…when?" She made a conscious effort not to sound too accusing, because that would only serve to make him divulge less information. But she was so done with him throwing pieces at her like this at the most inconvenient moments, usually only after she pressed him. Worse, she was annoyed with herself for not being more up to date with Barba's pre-trial procedure. And finally, it was too late for all these thoughts to come racing through her head at once.

"I'm telling you now. Knew you'd make a big deal out of it."

"Testifying against the most powerful pimp is kind of a big deal."

"I'm aware." His shadow paused in its movements, turning him into a dark, immobile shape.

"Are you prepared?"

"That's what this meeting is for. All I need to do is go and tell the truth." He sounded like he was trying to tell himself a story here, a story so naïve he couldn't possibly believe it himself.

"You know that's not how it works" she said carefully.

"I know."

"Is that what this was about? The spontaneous hook-up?" She got that sometimes, you didn't want or need to talk, you just needed distraction. It was a form of tension release, after all, and an intense one today. Then why did she feel so used? It was not being in on it that bothered her, not knowing this in advance. This wasn't part of their mutual "no talking" agreement. This was him needing company, then not opening the door.

"Hm" he grumbled ambiguously, resuming the search for his shirt.

"Okay." She ran her hand through her tousled hair, attempting to detangle the ends. She wasn't going to be one of _those_ women, who asked complicated questions and demanded to share each and every thought. That was not the type of relationship this was, and this was his problem. "You're gonna tell me how it goes tomorrow?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed in silence, his shoulders slumped. The moon fell through the gaps in the blinds, throwing stripes of light on him.

"Brian?"

"I think…we should probably cool it for a while. Just until the trial is over."

"Cool it?" The choice of words made him sound like a teenager trying to get out of a prom date the cowardly way.

"Just until the trial is over" he repeated, turning to face her. "Look, things are going to get messy, and I need to focus, and we both know it's the responsible thing to do."

Way to drop a bombshell at the last possible second. If she hadn't asked, would he have simply left and never spoken to her again? Blah blah blah, let's be adults here. She knew the speech, the fake collective "we" in "we both know" that turned you into the bad guy if you objected. She shook her head slowly. "I don't even know what to say to that." In between great sex and a break-up, there was supposed to be at least time for a shower.

"Don't say anything. Please. I'm sorry, I…" He reached for her hand, but she withdrew it. "I just don't want to drag you into anything."

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I was there, remember, I want to see Ganzel behind bars as much as you."

"I know. I don't know what will happen though-"

"What will happen how? There's tons of evidence against him, three years of evidence against him. The man admitted to murdering his fiancé. He's going down."

"Not without a fight." He said it so quietly she barely heard it, as if talking to his hands. And at that moment, something sank in, something that made the hair at the back of neck stand up.

"You're scared he's going to try again, aren't you?"

"Not the same way twice."

"Has he gotten in touch in any way?"

"No, he's not an idiot. Most of the time, anyway."

"But you think he might?"

He was avoiding her, putting as much imperceptible distance between them as possible when one of you was naked and one was half dressed. This wasn't making it easier to separate out vague anxiety from concrete threat. "I'm not sure. That stupid article didn't help. It's like 'in your face, man'."

"Bri, if you are legitimately afraid for your life, then you _need_ to tell Barba."

"Barba?" he laughed. "Barba hates my guts, he-"

"Doesn't matter; he's professional. You have some leverage, they need you, you can demand protection."

"I'm not 'afraid for my life'." He said it as if it were the most absurd idea ever that the man who had him shot in an alley then bought him flowers an hour later would have no problem repeating that stunt. "I don't need protection."

"Oh for…" She held her tongue, although it was hard not to point out that this was really bad timing for a tough guy act. "Better safe than sorry."

"There's no point, okay? If he wanted to get to me, he could either way. He would. Teasing him into it by involving people who may or may not be on his payroll isn't gonna improve things."

Unfortunately, he had a point there. And she hated it, because it pushed them right back to last May, when they had been powerless in the face of not knowing who was on which side. _Trust no one._ This world of two faces wasn't her world. She needed to act to fix it. "So what now?"

"Nothing. I do my part, watch my back…" He shrugged. How could he be so calm about this? She rejected his resignation to "the way things are", the way the powerlessness had infiltrated everything. Sometimes, it seemed like he had forgotten how to fight for things. Paralysis was a poor protection.

"And how exactly do you intend to do that?"

He ran his hands down his face. "You realise you're not exactly helping, Liv, right?"

"Well, if I tell you 'it's all going to be fine', what difference will it make?"

"_This_ is why I didn't want to talk to you about it!"

"Right. 'Cooling it.' That will solve everything."

* * *

[Hey you free tonight?]

[You have a short memory.]

[Don't make me say it...]

[Actually, I think I will.]

[It was a DUMB IDEA. Sorry]

[It was. How was pre-trial?]

[Let's not talk about it. I'm on 12-8 tonight.]

[See you at 6. Your place.]

They did not talk. They did not talk when he apologised and drew her close the second he opened the door. They did not talk when he kissed her, when she pinned him against the wall in a reversal of that first time, nor on the couch when she moved off his lap and insisted they order food, because somehow, food turned it into a date and a date made this less cheap. They didn't have the patience to read menus, so they got their usual orders in a hurried phone call made between touches, knowing full well that the Thai place uptown always took ages to deliver, but it was the best place around. And they certainly didn't talk in the bedroom, where they lost their clothes faster than any responsible adults should, until he slowed down and pulled back, his weight on his hands. "Liv…"

"What?" She was too impatient for any "staring into each others' eyes" action, which felt a little too intimate. This was about forgetting.

His brows twitched into a fleeting frown, until one side of his mouth curled up slightly, and something about the way he looked at her made her face feel warm, sending a tingling sensation down her spine. Suddenly, they were a little too naked for her liking, a little too exposed to each other.

Naturally, she was the one who looked away first, and she could feel him planting kisses on her collarbone, her chest, her stomach, realising where this was headed. And she was definitely okay with that. "Oh shit…"

They did not talk after. Not even when Munch and Nick showed up at his doorstep, and it all went awry.


	22. Triage

_Author's Note:__ Thank you for the reviews, as usual! I love reading your little relationship analyses. As you will have noticed, we are now on to "Undercover Blue", which I've been looking forward to for a while. For those among you who like detail; this chapter takes place on February 28 and March 1, i.e. post-arraignment and on the first day of trial but before Nick's testimony. Yes, I know, don't get me started on how quickly they went ahead with this "speedy trial"… _

* * *

It had all happened so fast. One minute, he had been a suspect in a "he said, she said" IAB investigation, the next minute, there was evidence for both sides, and before she knew it, he was arrested before she had another chance to speak to him. This part got to her the most: That she felt like she had somehow failed to extract a vital piece of information from him at the coffee shop that would have put the puzzle pieces into place. Because once you were arrested and processed, you were in the system. Once a suspect was arrested, most of her work was usually done and was handed over to the legal side. In this case, the "legal side" consisted of a pompous DA from Westchester and Barry Querns of all people, and there was no way she was leaving this up to them. She was supposed to be a "private" support only, calling lawyers for him and answering phone calls, but in his phone call, he had told her clearly that he wanted Querns to represent him. This was just the first of many questionable decisions. It made sense, she supposed, because as a key witness against Ganzel, as the person who had elicited the confession, Querns had a vital personal interest in keeping the other key witness out of prison. If Ganzel walked, Querns was a dead man; he knew that. This on its own was a greater incentive than any salary Brian could have afforded to dish out on a lawyer. However, Barry Querns was also, to put it mildly, a sleazebag who had been perfectly fine representing Ganzel until the heat had hit him as well. _"Things aren't as black and white as that, Liv."_ But then, defence attorneys who weren't too concerned with ethics could be good attorneys, right?

Still, she had a bad feeling through every minute of this, when she finally saw Brian at his arraignment hearing and he turned around –which he wasn't supposed to do- and looked so relieved to see her there, so earnestly relieved in that stupid, oversized jacket of his. That was the moment it hit her why this was so easy for Ganzel. Brian might have been used to playing roles, but he wasn't sophisticated in terms of making them up. The only way to get through long-term assignments was to play a version of yourself, so that was what he had done, and that was how Ganzel had gotten to know him. He could guess that the Cassidy he knew would get defensive rather than come up with an elaborate counter-strategy, which would effectively make him seem aggressive, that he would desperately try to persuade people of his innocence before consulting with a lawyer and make all sorts of mistakes that were really no reflection of his years of experience. He did not have the stonewall down at all. She watched him making snide comments at Strauss during arraignment, with all that anger over demotions and lost time and who knew what else coming out at the worst moment, and she couldn't even tell him to stop or ask him what the hell he was doing. It made her cringe, and all she could think about was how he didn't have the money to make bail and that if he wasn't released on his own recognizance, there was no way he would cope well in jail. Being at the receiving end of the justice system, powerless to steer your own case, was an awful feeling, as she remembered.

They spent most of the drive in silence after she had assured him that she believed him, as he blocked her questions about his defence strategy. She knew he had an appointment to meet with his lawyer later, given that the trial was tomorrow, and she would need to get back to the precinct to work…or semi-work her actual cases enough to appease Munch while really checking into the Larouche investigation.

"You don't have to come tomorrow if you can't make it. It's not like you can do anything." He leaned his elbow against the window, supporting his head in his hand. It had been a long couple of days.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'll go."

"Okay."

"You should try and get some sleep later."

"I'll sleep when this is over."

"You went straight from nightshifts to interrogations to Central Booking-"

"I know. I was there."

"Okay." She steeled herself, focusing on the slow traffic. They were running out of time here. There was a myriad of things that she felt she should be discussing with him right now while they had the chance, but she wasn't even sure what came first in this hierarchy of triage. Crisis management was her thing, but this was different. _Rape._ The word hung unspoken between them now in all its ugliness, colouring every interaction.

"You should stay out of it" he stated calmly.

"What do you mean?"

"My case. It's not- it won't look good."

"For you or me?"

"Both."

"I'm trying to help you."

"You can't. The more I tell you, the more you can be asked – theoretically."

"I'm not a witness. I have no vital information on this and I wouldn't be…objective."

"Querns said you got him the intel on Navarro before IAB."

"Yeah. Well. It was a team effort." Querns had no business blabbing about something that could get her into trouble.

He paused, rubbing the stubble on his cheek. "Am I screwed?"

She exhaled slowly, keeping her eyes on the red light above. "I don't know. I hope not."

* * *

"Of course I don't think you raped her, but you gotta admit, it's looking pretty bad!"

"Yeah, well, how did it look with Cragen? When they didn't get him on murder, they went for forced sodomy! It's what they do! I'm _not_ admitting to consensual sex, because you know as well as I do that there is no such thing as consensual there." He was pacing around, and she wished he would just sit down at the table with her for one minute to look at the information and figure this out objectively. Shouting at each other in this tiny recess room while his lawyer was off doing who knew what would not make a good impression on anyone.

"If it was complicated-"

"I told you that nothing happened with Brook- with Heather!"

"I know, but if it was…more complicated than that…" She couldn't imagine any way that it could be. She had gone over it a million times in her head, trying to find some way he could have been forced by external circumstances to be inappropriate with this woman, then resenting herself for it because she was making excuses for a hypothetical rape scenario. Which she knew he wasn't capable of. The problem was that no one ever thought rapists were capable of being rapists, because they were "nice guys", and that was how they got away with it. That and by other people, people like her, ignoring the red flags in their behaviour.

She couldn't believe that thought had actually just crossed her mind. Brian was not a rapist. He couldn't be. (_'Way to be objective, Detective' _the evil voice in her mind commented.) He had to have been set up just like Cragen. _('But Cragen hired escorts. Brian dated hookers- a hooker.')_ The problem was that he was so easy to set up. He shouldn't even have been in a room with this girl in the first place. There was no way that any UC should find himself in that position. _('What was he supposed to do, blow his cover? Get real.')_ People did what they had to do, and that was how mistakes happened. _"We had sex. I didn't want to; he knew I didn't want to." _Heather's statement, her tears had been so credible. She couldn't get the young woman's voice out of her head. They were real tears, directed at the wrong person.

Brian stopped pacing, pressing his palms on the table. "If you think there's any possibility that I'm a rapist, why are we even having this conversation? Or are you working right now?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if I thought you were rapist! I'm not accusing you, but-"

"I'm only gonna tell you this once: I would never, _never _sleep with a woman if I thought she didn't want to do it, if there was any indication that she was being coerced into it or doing it because she felt she had to."

The thing about Brian was that he had one of those faces that made you think he was incapable of telling a lie. His impressive undercover track record suggested otherwise. Still, she could see that he was being absolutely, 100% sincere. He was also wrong. She had been determined not to bring this up, but now, she had to. "Carissa…" she said quietly.

He clasped his hand over his mouth, shaking his head, and wow, did her name have an effect on him. "That was different. She wasn't…she was a working girl, but I wasn't paying her to have sex."

"Well, okay then, if you weren't paying her, I guess that makes it-"

"I'm not saying it was a good idea." He finally sank down in the chair opposite hers. "But I didn't _rape_ Carissa. Carissa was Ganzel's number one girl. She wasn't supposed to be with me, I wasn't using her to get information, she wasn't supposed to get information from me, we weren't working each other. We were –I know you don't wanna hear this-"

"No, I so don't."

"-we had a…thing."

Wow, if he was going to be this eloquent in court, he really, really needed more practice. "A thing." She crossed her arms.

"We were close for a while. She…it was definitely consensual."

This was something she knew they would forever disagree on, the extent to which people in the commercial sex business had the agency to make decisions like that. Carissa had been exploited, and later disposed of. Carissa had also been an intelligent young woman, a master of establishing connections. "But Heather-"

"Heather, no, no way." He shook his head resolutely. "You should have seen it, Liv, these girls, it's like she said, he kept them locked up with friggin' dog collars around their necks. I couldn't have done that. I felt sorry for her. I just wanted her to have a break. We talked, that's all."

"Okay. I believe you." The alternative was unimaginable. "But you have to think practically. The evidence looks bad."

"I am not going to lie. I didn't have sex with Heather. If telling the truth means I go to prison, then-"

"You don't mean that. You mean it now, but you wouldn't in a month or so." _…if you get convicted. _It was him saying things like that that made her really worried.

"I can't, Liv." He scooted forward towards the edge of the chair, resting his elbows on the table. "I can't say I did…that."

Part of her understood why. She put her hand on his arm. "You need to be more careful, Bri. You can't just…blurt out the truth in your own words, you need to –no, listen to me- you have to work with your lawyer."

"What do you think I'm doing? He thinks I'm guilty."

"It doesn't matter what he thinks."

"It matters to me! I'm a…people will think I'm a sex offender now." His tone was half incredulity, half horror, as if something so completely insane had happened.

"One problem at a time. Let's just focus on getting through this first."

They were interrupted by an urgent knock on the door, and Querns' head poking through it, a satisfied impression on his pokerface. "Excuse me, I need a word with my client."


	23. Betrayal

_Author's Note:__ All right, so we are on to the weekend of March 2/3 here, i.e. post Nick's testimony and after the lawsuit is filed for child support. (I apologise in advance for the lack of punching action, cheertennis12. As much as I love a good deal of violence in fiction…) Thank you for the reviews, as usual, and…I won't lie…keep them coming, because they are a source of motivation to continue._

* * *

The moment she stepped into the semi-empty precinct, she felt eyes on her, a target on her back. Of course. She didn't know how much Fin and Rollins had been told, exactly, and how much they had pieced together themselves, but somewhere along the line of this speedy process, whatever Brian or his lawyer did had started to reflect on her, as if they were one person. When she had passed Amanda and Fin in the hallway, their greeting had been a little more hurried as they were off to who knew where. Or was that all in her head? She would talk to them about it, one day –or not- but for now, all this nonsense had to be put on hold to see them through these trials. They had bigger problems. So she marched up straight to Munch, a very strained looking Munch who was clearly cursing their Captain for being away at this time as he spent his weekend being shouted at by One P-P and IAB. He set down the receiver as she approached, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

"What's all this I hear about a lawsuit?" she asked without a greeting.

"Didn't Rollins fill you in? I told her to-"

"Yeah, yeah, she did." And she had done so reluctantly, in an awkward phone call. This was her partner they were talking about, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that everyone else had discussed this without her before seeing fit to inform her. "That woman has a kid? How do we even know he's Nick's?"

"There's this little thing called DNA testing. You've heard of it?"

She wanted to punch him for being flippant at a time like this. "So nothing's certain yet."

"No, but best case scenario, we'll know on Monday. I pulled some strings. But…her story checks out."

"Wow." She let out a deep breath. "How's Nick taking it?"

"Not too well. You know, between finding out he has a nine-year-old he never met who's being raised by a drugdealer-"

"Whoa, what?"

"-and being accused of professional misconduct by your boyfriend…"

Ah, so he was Munch's ex-partner when things were fine, but now, he was her boyfriend?

"What's that about a drugdealer?"

"Not here." He glared at an officer who strolled past his desk a little too slowly, listening in on their conversation. "He's in the cribs, talking to Maria."

"Shit…" she muttered, because this whole other dimension of things had only just occurred to her. She felt bad for Nick, and somehow guilty, as if this had anything to do with her. Even so, what was it with the men in her life being unable to keep it in their pants? Adding more mess to an existent mess hardly improved matters.

"You should go talk to him" Munch urged her gently, focusing his attention back on his computer screen.

"Right." She was not looking forward to this conversation as she wandered over to the cribs, listening at the door to make sure she wouldn't interrupt an unpleasant chat with his wife…his ex…his whatever they were these days. Don't ask, don't tell.

When she entered after a knock without a response, peeking her head through the door first, she found him perched on the edge of one of the beds, his head in his hands, which were covering his face. "Nick?" she said cautiously, and her voice sounded smaller and higher than expected.

He startled at her sudden appearance, rubbing his eyes in an embarrassed gesture. They were red, and it took her one surreal moment to realise that he had been crying. She felt like she was intruding on a hugely private, uncomfortable moment that she was never meant to be a part of, like that time when she had come over to his house and found him drunk, his place a mess after Maria had left him. They didn't do this sort of thing, crying on each others' shoulders. "What are you doing here?" His words came out as one, a singular defence shot.

"Munch said…um…how are you?" She wanted to sit down on the bed next to him, but she couldn't, because one suspicious glance from him told her that she was on "the other side" now. It was a slap in the face.

"What do you think? Cynthia never told me, I…I didn't know…" He swallowed, rubbing at a stain on the floor with his shoe.

"You couldn't have known."

"I just upped and left and…Maria, she said she's not surprised in the least, like I-" He cut himself off.

"How did she react?"

He looked up at her, and his expression changed, the anger that was bubbling so close to the surface welling up. "It's none of your business, Liv, remember? Your words."

"I know you're-"

"And it's not the same thing as raping a sex slave!"

"No, it…no one said it is." _He didn't rape a sex slave._

"'cause that's a great way of defending yourself, dragging everyone else down with you."

She sighed. "I know you're angry about that; I didn't see it coming either."

"Well, maybe you should keep a closer eye on your _boyfriend_!"

"What am I supposed to do, I'm not his keeper-"

"That's funny, because it sure looks like it!" He got up from the bed, walking over to the tiny, opaque window that you couldn't see anything out of. "I can't believe you're on that asshole's side."

"He didn't do it to get you in trouble." Actually, she had no clue why he had done it, since he was conveniently ignoring her calls and texts again. And now she was taking the blame for it? Something about that felt off. It was like she was running from crisis to crisis and couldn't do right by anyone.

"Like I give a fuck _why_ he did it? Cassidy's a sleazy scumbag who looks the other way when it suits him, when he gets to be the big UC man, but then rats on others-"

"_Rats_ on others? Nick, it's not kindergarten, this is serious-"

"You think I don't know that?" He spun around again, approaching her slowly. She stood her ground, crossing her arms. "Do you think I haven't regretted how I left things with Cynthia ever since? But to drag her into this again, Jesus, to parade her into court like that and put her and the kid in danger-"

They were interrupted by a loud rapping on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Munch slipped inside, shutting it firmly behind him. "You guys, the reason we talk in here is to get privacy. Every uni and their mother can hear you out there. Keep it down!"

"Why don't you tell your boy Cassidy to keep it down?"

John raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Nick, what's done is done, blaming Cassidy for something that happened ten years ago won't solve anything."

"He was the one who brought it up with no warning to either of you two, have you thought about that? We tried to help him, all of us, we put in all these extra hours to get info on Heather, talked to Barba, we had his back in a rape case. A rape case! And what does he do, first chance he gets, he throws me under the bus."

"Yeah, it's a jerk move, I'm with you on that."

Both of her coworkers' eyes were suddenly on her, and the room was filled with an awkward silence as the fact that they had run into her at his apartment hung unsaid between them. She had been determined not to end up in a room alone with Munch and Amaro, just the three of them, for a while after that, because something about the fact that they had seen her without her pants on made her skin crawl and she would prefer not to be reminded of it. She knew what they had to be thinking, that she couldn't possibly be objective, that it was useless to even discuss this with her, that they had been wrong to help her on this. But she wasn't, she was one of them. She wasn't wrong about this. She wasn't going to choose sides; this wasn't a stand-off. She had to be careful what she said next. "I'm pretty sure he didn't come up with the idea. It's a classic lawyer's move, bringing her to court like that, it's for show."

"You're pretty sure?" Nick raised his eyebrows. "See, you don't know either. It's like I told you, Cassidy can't be trusted. He's a backstabbing asshole-"

"Nick…" Munch stepped between them, putting his hand on his younger colleague's shoulder. "He's looking at jail time, of course he's going to pull out all the stops. What's he supposed to do? Go down for rape?"

"It's not my problem that he screwed up his operation! Twice!"

"People make mistakes" she replied factually, hoping that he got the obvious hint that he, too, had made a mistake here. "But maybe you should focus on the bigger picture now: You have a son."

"Great, fantastic, I have a son who doesn't know I exist, I guess I should be _grateful_ to Cassidy for letting me know!" He shrugged off Munch's hand and stormed past them, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"_I thought it was a test."_

"…_whatever she did, she did of her own free will."_

"_So you knew that if you had sex with her you would be guilty of rape?"…"Yeah. I mean, yes."_

She had believed, somehow, that things would get easier after his testimony, after hearing the words coming out of his own mouth, the version of events that would make sense of things and explain it all away. Maybe that had been naïve because on some level, she had to have known better. The whole drive to his apartment, she went over his statement in her head again and again. She knew he was innocent, but he had just admitted to the premise of the charges in knowing that Heather was being coerced into sex against her will. In light of that, his whole Amaro deflection stint was irrelevant and simply served as pointless additional trouble. There had to be a window in this somewhere, but she wasn't sure if she saw it anymore.

"I swear, I had no idea about the kid." He glanced up and down the empty corridor, then reluctantly stepped back, not so much inviting her in as allowing it to happen.

"Then how did you know about Cynthia?" She entered but remained standing beside the door in her coat.

"Talk…you know, connections."

"Right, I forgot, it's privileged." She was getting tired of this little James Bond act. He was always holding out on her, always knowing just a little bit more than he let on, always withdrawing when things got tough. It got to her more than she liked to admit how much he didn't trust her after everything. "When did you and Querns even come up with this?"

"Come on, you know I couldn't warn you, Amaro would never have taken the stand-"

"To be fed to the wolves like that? No, probably not. You know, he was actually trying to help you before."

"Sure didn't sound like it when he was going on about the undercover rules up there, a right upstanding citizen. Look, I'm sorry about dragging that woman and her kid into it, but Amaro? Let's just say people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

"And you could have said that, rather than bringing a lawsuit down on him and the city."

He shook his head, setting the beer he probably shouldn't be drinking down on the kitchen counter and leaning against it. "Yeah, yeah, Amaro gets to hook up with his target's sister and I'm the asshole. Querns tells me the truth is a horrible defence since no one believes me anyway, and meanwhile, I'm still looking at rape charges."

"I know, it's…not looking good. And you've just lost a bunch of people in your camp."

"Have I?" He looked at her questioningly, and the frustration evaporated. Instead, there was a gnawing insecurity in his eyes, a kind of fear and expectation for her to say something to fix it or break it. Only she didn't have anything, any means left to fix this. There was nothing to be said that would make it all better.

"Not _me_, I meant…I'll talk to Nick on Monday once he knows more, but I can't set this right."

"No, I know, I'll talk to him."

She nodded, turning to leave, but as her hand touched the door, he approached her, leaning against the frame beside her as she hesitated.

"Do you want to stay…just for a little while? This could be my last…" He couldn't say it.

No, it was too soon for this, too soon to think like that. She couldn't and wouldn't do this now. She put her hand on his arm without looking at him, fumbling for her keys in her coat pocket with the other hand. "It won't be." Wasn't he supposed to be the one who was too optimistic? This wasn't going to be the type of relationship where she would visit him in prison. But he was innocent either way, and he wouldn't go to prison… A thought crossed her mind. "Hey Bri, what do you know about a mid-level dealer from Queens called Roberto Chavez?"

"Chavez?" Clearly, his mind had been elsewhere as he spilled the information freely. "Oh, yeah…he's GCP, not top level but high enough to do some damage. Deals in stolen pills, does some muscle work for the bosses if someone lower in the food chain takes the stuff rather than distributing it. He sells to gyms, college kids, that kind of thing, people who distribute to their customers. Why?"

"Because if you and Nick could get your acts together and stop pointing fingers at each other, we might be able to do something about this."


	24. Certainty

"You're sure he'll bite?" she asked skeptically. So much hinged on this one scenario, and the plan seemed too simple to work, too easy to fit the massive problems at hand.

"Yeah, guys like Chavez, they see an opportunity, some easy cash, they go for it." Obviously, Brian would say that since the set-up had been his idea.

She threw Nick a questioning glance to confirm, since he and his unlikely ally were definitely the two people in this room who knew the business best. He clenched his jaw without looking at Brian and nodded curtly. This preparation crib meeting was beyond bizarre in bringing people together whose nerves were already taut, who had started to grow wary of each other and had lives to lose. It didn't seem right to throw both her partner and her boyfriend into this operation when they were so personally involved, but Munch was right, what other choice did they have? As long as Nick got nowhere near Chavez and Brian stayed well away from Navarro, they should be fine…unless you counted the fact that this whole operation wasn't sanctioned and all of them could lose their jobs and more for it.

"If something seems off in the slightest, we're out" Munch reiterated, taking charge of the situation. "That goes for both teams."

"You sure you're up for this, man?" Fin asked Nick. He didn't like being left behind any more than she did, no matter how much everyone seemed to agree that they had to go with whoever was most credible for the parts and was not known to the people involved (and the unspoken agreement that she obviously couldn't pair up with Brian).

"No, no, I got this."

Brian rubbed the stubble on his chin while pacing the room again. "It's gotta seem low risk. Chavez sees some smalltime wannabe and his trashy sidekick –no offence-"

"None taken" Rollins conceded, her head buried in the papers in her lap.

"-he's not gonna smell it coming."

"That your expert opinion?" Nick sneered.

"Amaro" Munch interjected warningly before anyone else could react. "The key is to get Narco in on time so it's clean."

"They're not gonna care where they get the hint from as long as the evidence is there" Amanda remarked, eliciting a nod from Fin beside her, who was observing this whole scenario in a rather laid-back manner, considering the circumstances.

Olivia put her hand on the metal frame of the bunk bed. "The problem will be making it stick. We need some sort of other evidence, otherwise it's going to look like we made both Chavez and Navarro to protect our own." She avoided Brian's gaze even as she could feel his eyes on her, because she hated bursting his bubble here. She didn't even want to imagine what Barba would say about all this if he knew what they were up to. "And say Navarro spills and Heather changes her story…in response to facing imprisonment on drug charges? That's coerced. No way the judge will admit that."

"One step at a time, Olivia. Let Narcotics handle the drug charges, and I want everyone to stay far away from Heather until we know what's what, you most of all." The sergeant looked at her over the rim of his glasses, which was pathetic, because she had really gotten the hint. Did he think she would jeopardise this investigation? They were all out on a limb here.

"Yeah, if we're all done chatting, can we maybe get going?" Nick was on the edge of his seat, barely able to keep his legs still. "There's a kid out there being used as a drug mule."

"He's right" Brian agreed sheepishly, which earned him another glare from Nick that communicated just how much he wanted to punch him. "We should get this over with."

Munch got up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. "All right, go get equipped, everyone. And no over the top costumes."

Amanda responded with a slight smile. "Got it, Sarge."

* * *

"But he's innocent, there is absolutely no evidence left to tie him to this."

Munch shrugged in a "that's life" sort of manner. "Well, I know that, you know that, now it's up to Strauss to realise that."

"But how can he-"

"Liv, you know how this works. He's not just going to go 'whoops, sorry' before considering all the evidence without us standing by. We're biased."

"Did you make it clear that it's a corroborated story?"

"Funnily enough, I didn't, because I like to do a piss poor job when left in charge" he said dryly. "A closed hearing's been set for tomorrow; I already told Cassidy."

"Thanks" she mumbled, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Tomorrow. That wasn't so bad. Only a few more hours of this endless waiting game that she loathed, which was like sleeping on a bed of nails.

"Now clearly, you're not going to get around to your _actual _cases at this hour, so let's call it a night. There's nothing more you can do. Go home, Liv. Or wherever it is you're going, I don't want to know…" He waved dismissively and took his phone out of his pocket, glancing down at it.

She did not appreciate the comment, but was grateful for the break from Munch as she grabbed her coat and purse from her desk. In all honesty, she just wanted to go home and somehow pass the hours. Or go see him, tell him that people had born witness to Heather's testimony of his innocence. That he was not a rapist in their eyes. The sense of relief when Heather had told her the truth, the obvious truth judging from her affect, had been enormous. It went beyond knowing that the charges were likely to be dropped now. She had known that the charges weren't true all along, of course, because Brian couldn't have done it, and she hadn't really doubted him after all. Even so, there was something about hearing it said out loud, about Heather telling her that Brian had been "nice" to her, talking about dogs with him, that had hit home especially. Yes. Of course he would have been. This scenario was one she could picture, one that went with those surprising moments of softness when she least expected it. Yes, that was really him, that was _the real_ Brian.

[DA hearing tomorrow, that's good news. He'll dismiss the charges.]

It took him a couple of minutes to respond, although she guessed that he was probably sitting at home alone in front of his TV, beer in hand, waiting for the forgetting to kick in. [He better.]

[It'll be okay. Want me to come over?]

Pause. More pause. [No thanks been a long day]

It was probably for the best. They would only drive each other crazy. [Ok see you after the hearing tomorrow]

No answer.

* * *

She was glad to leave it all behind, the whiteness of the courthouse steps, the cold that had chilled her to the bones outside that building. A winter of waiting, which showed only a few signs of letting up for spring at last. If she never had to do this kind of thing with him again, she would be grateful for it. He had to catch a break now, surely. She wasn't superstitious, but the bad luck for this year had to be used up. Things would look up from here.

So when they were done strolling through the cold hand in hand without a word, trying to find any place far enough away from the courthouse to avoid prying eyes, and ended up in a pretty shady, small joint, she didn't mind in the least. She had never been here before, but she had a weakness for dark, hardwood interiors that were chipped and dated, for grumpy bartenders who didn't do small talk or fancy drinks, alienating the yuppie crowd, for crappy music playing too loudly. The latter was only made worse by the bearded, middle aged guy a few stools down, whose mid-afternoon drunkenness made him believe he could sing along to lyrics that were clearly too fast for him. "It's the end of the world as we know it...feel fine…Leonid Bernstein…Bruce…"

"It's _Leonard_ Bernstein, dude" Brian interrupted him, unnerved. "Leonid Brezhnev."

"Fuck off."

"Wow, articulate response."

"Not worth the argument." She took his hand and pulled him a few stools further down into a dark corner as he mumbled "screw R.E.M." under his breath, because all it took to make this day worse was a bar fight over song lyrics. Needless to say, this was not an afternoon to mess around with beer and wine; this was a hard, clear drink sort of afternoon when Munch had congratulated her on cashing in the first of her estimated 200,000 hours of overtime.

It was a strange one, too, because Brian hadn't actually sat down on the stool next to hers, but was standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. Which was a little much in public, but her relief at this day being over outweighed her need for distance.

She leaned back against him. "You all right?"

"Peachy."

"The state's obliged to rehabilitate your name."

He laughed briefly, a hoarse sound near her ear. "And does that work well, in your experience?"

"It's a process."

"What am I gonna do, sue a former sex slave and her loser boyfriend for damages?"

"I guess you could" she said, not liking the sound of it, but he instantly shook his head.

"You know, she's sitting there, crying, saying how sorry she is like that makes it okay again and I just…I don't get it. That world, Liv…"

"You're not part of that world anymore." She turned her head to look at him. There was no softness now, only bitterness. Reality had a way of destroying anything that wasn't hard.

"No. I'm done. No more court. Fucking Ganzel…could have just shot me."

She touched his hand. "Don't say that. You're here. It's over."

"And we said we weren't gonna talk about it. So let's just never mention it again."

Her usual line about how pretending it didn't happen wouldn't undo it was at the tip of her tongue, but she thought better of it. "All right."


	25. Philosophy

_**Author's Note:**__** It took me a little longer than expected to update here, because I got so caught up in Surrender. Anyway! It's not for lack of motivation, as your reviews and Twitter comments make me super, duper happy, as usual. Seriously, someone asked me the other day why I'm smiling at my phone. You know you're to blame. So yes, I wouldn't mind if you kept doing that. :D**_

* * *

"Captain!" She could have hugged him and kissed his feet for all the relief she felt at his appearance. "Good to see you back."

He gave her a sinister look, folding his hands on his desk. "I go out of town for a few days, and Cassidy gets set up for rape, Amaro gets in trouble over something that happened ten years ago, we get sued, and Munch is close to a heart attack and begs me never to leave again. Have I left anything out?"

"Um, no, that's basically it." Except for the ongoing family court case with Avery and the baby, but that wasn't their case. Not anymore. That was their loss. "It's all under control now. How was your trip?"

"Relaxing. More so if I didn't have thirty messages on my answering machine."

"One at a time."

"Yes." He leaned forward, rubbing his brow with one finger. "Liv, I need you –everyone, in fact- to play by the rules for a while, okay? I can't always be here. We are under observation."

"Got it, Captain."

* * *

It took Nick one car ride with her, one red light and all of 24 hours after the charges against Brian had been dropped to stick his nose in it again, since apparently, finding out that he had a son wasn't enough to occupy his mind. Sometimes, it felt like her life was his personal daytime soap opera. The man really needed to get laid.

"So you and Cassidy…" Smooth, real smooth conversation starter. Were they really going to do a re-do of this?

"Me and Cassidy what?"

"I mean…I'm not judging you…" he added in the tone she imagined God might take in that story about the second coming.

She threw him an icy look as he kept his eyes on the road. "That's very generous of you."

"I suppose there's uglier guys. Although, that face of his…"

"Glad you're not tempted to jump into bed with him. 'cause that would make this awkward." She could not believe they were having this conversation. This, _this_ was why he was never supposed to find out.

"I mean I get it, it's nice to have someone."

"Yes."

"But really, Cassidy?" he blurted out. "Officially? Cassidy?!"

"I know his name."

"So what, are you guys, like, _endgame_ now?"

"Yes, and you're not invited to the wedding." Clearly, her partner watched way too much TV. _Endgame_, really? Did people even still say that?

"I just wanna understand…you went to the Bahamas with him, right? He's the mystery man? So that means this is, what, a long-term relationship?"

She really wasn't comfortable with this line of questioning, so she took a slow, a very slow, aggressive sip of her coffee before answering. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Liv, you…trust me, you can do better."

He did not just say that. She wanted to kick his balls for how he made her sound like a desperate spinster, ready to jump the first man who came her way. This crossed all sorts of lines, this was so far beyond the line that she couldn't even see the line from out here. "Fine, you know what really pisses me off about this? He's just had this…horrific experience, being framed for a crime he didn't commit, and he gets through that, but all anyone goes on about forever is how he's 'that guy who sleeps with hookers', like he's the first person to make a mistake in the history of the NYPD. And everyone, including you, judges him based on that one action."

"Um, maybe because he _is_ that guy who sleeps with hookers?"

"Well, you try finding someone who's perfect, let me know how it goes!"

"So you're basically settling for him because he's…there? It's a pretty far drop from 'perfect' to 'sleeps with hookers'."

"Oh, and you've never screwed up? Because I gotta tell you, that's pretty high and mighty, coming from you right now." She hit him where it hurt, like she knew it would.

He didn't lash back, not this time, like she knew he wouldn't when he was actually guilty. "Gil's not a mistake" he said quietly.

"I didn't mean the kid."

"Cynthia, sure…but…" He shook his head. "I have a son. Can't even wrap my head around that."

"You went to see him?" she asked, grateful for the change of subject.

"Yeah. Meet his Uncle Nick."

"His uncle?"

"She thought it would be too much for him to just have his daddy show up like that…at least until she knows that I'm gonna, you know, stick around."

"But then he'll have to find out you lied to him one day."

"No shit." He tucked at his collar uncomfortably with one hand, glancing at the truck behind them rearview mirror. "You wanna come any closer, buddy, crawl into our trunk?!"

She knew she should have taken the wheel. Nick was the most impatient driver ever, prone to honking and wasting gas by breaking and speeding too much. "But you'll tell him the truth eventually?"

"I don't know. Right now, I kind of need to win her trust. And I don't have the best track record to recommend me."

"You'll work for it. It's what you do." She looked at him, remembering the last time she had seen him with Zara, allowing her to draw at his desk while he came in to drop off a report and letting her pretend to write a police report. "Gil could do worse."

* * *

"What a shitty week" Brian grumbled as they half sat, half lay sprawled out on her couch, his arm around her, a couple of empty beers in front of them. Neither one of them was really able to focus on the Monty Python movie that was playing on TV at this point.

"I don't know. The end's looking better than the start, wouldn't you say?" He got off. He was free. They were okay. Avery and the baby were safe for now. (She was possibly an accomplice in a crime there…but that she could ignore.) These were the things that mattered.

"I swear, it's like Murphy's law or something."

"It could have gone worse. Things can only go up from here."

"Do you sometimes wonder-" He stopped himself.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"Tell me." She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him.

"Do you sometimes wonder _why_?" There was such an innocence about the way he emphasised the question with a puzzled look on his face, as if it had only occurred to him now that there was no organising principle of justice in the world. That he might well have been convicted despite being innocent. Because now that it wasn't an acute threat anymore, it was okay to think about the implications.

She couldn't resist kissing his cheek at an awkward angle. "If I started thinking about that, how would I ever go to sleep at night?" His was a dangerous question. It was the question that eventually led to "why was I even born?". _Legitimate rape._ _A woman's body knows. _Fuck it. People were more than their parentage, than their roots. And one day, she might even start believing that they were more than the sum of their actions.

"So that's it, we just ignore the why?" '_Trust Brian to start playing hobby philosopher at age 45' _she thought.

She pictured Avery's face when she had talked about Theo, the way she had looked at her son so full of love and determination to do right by him. Her baby was more than a product of rape, than a _product _of anything. He was a person. There was hope for them. And if there was hope for them, that could only mean that there was hope in the grand scheme of things. "I think sometimes, there are…good moments even in shitty situations. I mean, I think we're kidding ourselves when we say 'always look on the bright side of life.' Because sometimes, there isn't a bright side. But overall, there's good stuff, too, and we just have to hold on to that."

"Hm. Wouldn't have guessed you were an optimist."

She debated explaining where her newly enlightened worldview had come from, but decided against it. If she hadn't told him about this at the time of trial, there was no point in doing it now and opening up a whole other can of worms after the week he had just had. There was no way to mention the mother and child escape thing, the small victory in that, without mentioning her own culpability and, more importantly, the rape, and mentioning rape just didn't seem like the greatest idea right now. "Ask me again tomorrow" she suggested instead, "it might not last."

His fingers were drawing lazy circles on her arm, and it was strangely soothing just to sit here for a moment without having to think, without having to fight or talk or feel anything. It was safe.


	26. Comfort

_**Author's Note:**__** The usual broken record: Thank you for your kind reviews! This story has a few chapters still to come and feedback always motivates me to write more and gives me ideas.**_

* * *

She loved March. March was the month of progress, not quite warm yet but filled with the promise of spring in its later days. It could be a surprise package of snow, sun and more snow; you never knew. And after its turbulent start, she was ready for some gentleness. When the snow finally departed, people seemed to stream out of their apartments in even greater numbers than usual. They crowded the streets, the food stalls and the subway, and every time she saw Brian, he would complain that the morning traffic back from the Bronx was getting worse every day. She neither agreed nor disagreed, since she wasn't faced with that issue. She liked the crowds.

Olivia had her spring habits. She would start running again. During the weekends, she would be walking around the city centre, people watching and imagining the view from different perspectives. What would the city look like to a tourist in a group with only 24 hours to spend here? To a student from out of state? To a family on a shopping trip to the city, trying to keep track of two hyper children and one sulking teenager? She would walk around trying on these different identities like coats, imagining these different possibilities and alternative lives, and she would feel at home right where she was. She would marvel at the differences between days and locations, the way the cars parked on one side of the street were covered in a thin, sparkly glaze of morning frost while those standing outside the shade were clear. She would not feel alone. And occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of her own reflection in a shop window and wonder where the time had gone. Every once in a while, she would treat herself to a pair of sensible shoes or just a new nailpolish she wouldn't wear often. Brian would smirk and comment if he saw it, but he wasn't exactly in a position to talk, given his own collection of any kind of "stuff" one could imagine, the clutter around his apartment. This was the man who had barely taken anything but swimming trunks and a few shirts on vacation, yet had somehow managed to go over his luggage allowance on the way back, insisting that the problem could be solved by repacking "smartly" rather than paying the fine and nearly causing them to miss their flight in the process.

It was at moments like these when she would watch herself as if from the outside and go "really?!", when she couldn't quite believe that this was happening, that they were actually the sort of boring, average adults who did this sort of thing. There was a dangerous number of "wes" now that they had slipped into. "What are we doing on Sunday?" "What should we order for dinner?" "Are we going to my place or yours?" She wasn't used to that. She was used to doing whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, answering to no one (within the tight constraints of her work hours and those phone calls at spectacularly inconvenient times). But then there was distance, too. In actual fact, she could still do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, and maybe that was why this had been working out for months now – she didn't have to change who she was. It was as if their comfort zone required a certain amount of pulling back, a minimum number of cancelled dates, of last minute calls and mystery absences. His as much as hers. They didn't get too comfortable, not to the extent where you would leave your stuff lying around the other person's place, go to over the top romantic restaurants or talk about each other's hopes and fears. In other words: She would shower at his place, but she wouldn't shave her legs there. She was okay with that.

Even so, sometimes, it felt as if they had been doing this for years. There was a strange familiarity and comfort to being with him, rather than a buzzing excitement, head over heels in love kind of feeling. He had literally grown on her over time, and she didn't know how. She had actually slept in the same bed with him more nights than she had done with anyone in years, possibly ever. They did argue about things, but then, they would usually just go home and avoid the subject, never speaking of it again, since neither one of them would be the first to apologise. But the key surprise was that they hadn't murdered each other yet. All cards were on the table (more or less), and yet neither one of them had run away in horror. More so, she didn't _want_ to run. Now that wasn't the same as wanting to stay for sure, but it was something. At the very least, it was different and new. _"So you're basically settling for him because he's…there?"_

Or maybe they were just lazy, too lazy to admit that this was never meant to be more than a summer fling, or too afraid of being alone. No, she rejected that idea. Nick needed to get out of her head, although she and him had made up in the aftermath of his taking that bullet into the vest. She wasn't afraid of being alone. Being alone was familiar. This thinking about another person thing was far scarier. And while she had no desire, absolutely zero wish to have some sort of deep "where is this going?" conversation with him, she had been wondering recently where he was on all this. What the point was. Why they kept seeing each other. How uninvested she should remain. So when Brian broached the subject, albeit in his Brian-like manner, she was surprised, because he was at least as bad at this sort of thing as she was.

"You know what's good" he said easily after they had been strolling through the park for half an hour. "If we run into someone now, we don't have to hide in the bushes or make up some bullshit excuse."

"We never did. It just sort of worked out that way."

"Come on…" He smirked, looking over at a group of kids tossing a frisbee for a hyperactive, grey dog. "That's because we made it that way."

"I'm not arguing that."

He was still watching the dog, which was now splashing into a cold pond against the kids' cries of protest, effectively soaking its shaggy fur. "So is this, like, a real thing now?"

"As opposed to an imaginary thing?"

"You know what I mean."

She rubbed her hands over her forearms. The wind made it too cold for that spring jacket. "I think we're a little old for you to ask me if I like or 'like-like' you. What do you think this is?"

"I don't know." He shrugged distractedly. "We're having fun, aren't we?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Fun."

Something in her tone made him turn his attention away from the dog to look at her. "I didn't mean it like that, like it doesn't mean-"

"I get it. It's fine." _Fun_. The word sounded hollow in her ears. Playing frisbee was fun. Watching a baseball game was fun. But what did she expect? Fun was Brian's go-to justification for doing things. Fun was what had been missing from her life.

"Good" he replied a little too quickly, glossing over the larger question, "'cause it took us long enough to get to this point."

"Those 13 years don't count. Unless you spent them pining for me, then, you know-"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Hey, you were pretty keen!"

"I was keen on lots of things…and pretty naïve. It wouldn't have worked out."

"No, it wouldn't have." She rubbed her hands together to warm her icy fingers. It would have been short and heated, and entirely doomed. But they were different people now than they had been. Weren't they? She wanted things now. Not huge, outrageously demanding things, but _things _nonetheless. The warmth of waking up next to someone. Stability. Laughter. Things to talk about outside the job.

As she dropped her hands again, he caught one of them in his, encircling her fingers. Unfortunately, his hand wasn't much warmer than hers, but it was better than nothing. "I haven't done this in a while" he mumbled, and she knew he wasn't talking about the handholding thing, because they had done that.

"No, me neither." She rubbed her lips together, annoyed with the way her matte lipstick dried up against this wind. People were sitting on benches in the sun, bundled up in light scarves, and she wondered how they did it, because it was too cold to stop moving. "I don't really, uh…relationships aren't really my thing." Her heart fluttered at the word "relationship" the second she said it out loud, making her wish she could take it back, because now she did want to run.

"Yeah, I…I get that" he replied hesitantly, and she knew it was that stupid word that had done it. "The job gets in the way, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but I sometimes wonder if it's the job or me, you know…because we picked this job for a reason, right? We could be working desk duty or…there are people who make both work. Sometimes, I think the job's an excuse."

"Maybe. I got so used to being out there on my own. Except…"

He didn't need to continue, because they both knew what that "except" referred to. Except that he had forgotten his role. Except that it hadn't quite worked out that way. "I got used to the job, the people there, being everything." She wasn't alone as long as she had had Elliot. And then she realised, of course, that she had never "had" him, because the job was just a job and people went home to their real lives, their real people afterwards. Other people, that was. Not her.

"That's the thing, though. They're not, because they only see one side of you - when you're UC anyway, I don't know about other situations."

She had to think about that one for a moment. Elliot and her had been close, closer than she could ever have imagined being with anyone. He had seen her at her best, at her worst, had put up his house as collateral for her once. She had watched him go from loving Kathy, to resenting Kathy, to missing Kathy, to trying to work things out with Kathy, covering for him with her more than once. But you didn't walk out of the life of people you cared about like that. You didn't have a separate life with other people, unless the life you had at work was only your work life where you left all your darkness before going home. Which was what normal people did. "No, I think that pretty much applies outside, too."

"It's just easy to forget that."

"Yeah."

"I'm not ready for a desk job, though" he said urgently, as if willing her to understand something very crucial.

"I get that. Me neither." Brian wasn't Elliot –the comparison was almost funny- and she wasn't the same person she had been a couple of years ago.

"I just want my shield back. Beyond that, I don't know."

"I know." She squeezed his hand lightly, and he squeezed back. The thing was that she wasn't quite sure who the new Olivia was yet, and neither was Brian. And that was where they were stuck. For now.


	27. Principle

_**Author's Note:**__** Thank you for your kind reviews! For the 26**__**th**__** time. **__** If you have been reading and haven't reviewed yet, don't be shy and say hi. You don't have to write a novel, I just like the evidence of humanoid presence. In response to a comment: No, this is not almost the end yet. Well, fair enough, it is in terms of timeline, but I have a very concrete end in mind and it will absolutely take a few more chapters to get there. **_

* * *

She didn't know how she had found herself in the middle of yet another heated rape culture discussion when all they had wanted to do was to order pizza and relax in front of the TV. Actually, the explanation was simple though: Ray. Ray inviting himself in when he had swung by to pick something up, Ray eating their pizza and Brian awkwardly sitting between them, just waiting for the moment to pass and his different worlds to be separate again.

"I just don't get the hysteria, why it's suddenly a thing now" Brian's friend proclaimed his unpopular-yet-unfortunately-popular view. "Women and men are equal these days, for better or worse, so how is this an issue. Unless you're talking about co-ed college girl culture going to the dogs, then we can talk."

She had the feeling that he knew a thing or two about college girl culture, and she couldn't believe she was explaining herself to this idiot. She was used to dealing with these sorts of views, but really, she didn't need any more of it in her freetime. "It's not that it's suddenly become a thing now –victim blaming has always been present. It's that more and more survivors are willing to come forward now and talk about their experiences, but they are always fighting against the stigma, against people claiming they wanted it, justifying violence and a system that protects the perpetrators."

Ray rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his slice of pizza and continuing to talk while chewing. "Yeah, yeah, women are always the victims. Have you looked at these girls?"

Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Man-"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she interrupted sharply. "You can tell from her appearance that a girl _wants _to give blowjobs to the entire campus fraternity?"

The corner of Ray's mouth twitched in punchworthy amusement at the mentioning of blowjobs. "People know what happens at fraternities. They don't have to go to them and play along. You can't get drunk and do shit you regret, then blame it on the guy."

"A woman has the right to say no, in any situation. And if she is drunk to the point where she is unable to consent-"

"Then that's her problem! She didn't need to get that drunk! What if they were both drunk? Why is it only the guy's fault then?"

"We're not talking about situations where two consenting adults had a one-night stand and regretted it though; people don'treport these situations, because they know it would always be the woman's character or sexual history that would be dragged through the mud. We are talking about cases that go away because the school administration pressures the victims not to report, a culture where women are expected to be sexually available to serve men's needs at any time, but if they actually are sexual beings in a different context, they are then blamed for it. Instead of holding rapists accountable for their behaviour."

"Yeah, there's rape though, and then there's 'rape'." He actually indicated air quotes around the latter word.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She was genuinely fighting the urge to get up and walk away from this conversation now. "There is rape, and then there is not rape, and really, they are not that hard to tell apart based on the absence of consent."

"I mean rape culture is a thing in, like, places like India and Africa-"

"There's a nice generalisation."

"-where people die in wars and stuff. Don't tell me that's on the same scale with a little partying that got out of hand."

She looked at him in what she hoped was her best death stare, although he seemed unperturbed by it. "There's a difference between consensual 'partying' and rape, which is a means of asserting power over another person by inflicting violence on them. If people can't tell the difference between the two, then we have a real problem with perceptions of masculinity and sex."

Ray laughed and shook his head. "The good old feminist argument."

"I just don't see what's so complicated about it" Brian butted in impatiently. "Yes means yes, and no means no, it's not that hard to understand. Just don't fucking rape people. End of story."

"It should be" she agreed, "but then you get all this Blurred Lines 'I know you want it' BS-"

"Whoa, that's a joke." Ray held up his hands defensively. "Lighten up."

"Nothing tops a good misogynist joke…" Except being told to "lighten up" by an ignorant douche bag.

Brian shrugged, picking at the corner of the pizza carton. "It's just a song. I think it's a pretty far step from there to rape."

"It's part of our culture, that's the problem. It trivialises rape and normalises 'no means yes'."

"Oh yeah, how so? I don't hear any rape references in there."

"Because you don't want to hear them; you like the song." Of course, he had to take Ray's side on this. And she so didn't want to get into an argument over a stupid song in front of him. "But it's not about that one song, it's just example after example of cultural artefacts that perpetuate this sort of thing."

She had serious doubts as to whether Ray had understood half the words she had just used, judging from his lack of a reprieve, but he didn't really matter. She wasn't going to change his mind either way. Brian, on the other hand, looked like he had a thing or two to say, but kept his quiet, and all she wanted to do was to make him spit it out. But of course, he didn't, direct as he normally was.

* * *

"I just don't understand how he can think like that." She picked up some paper napkins and threw them into the trash can. They should really eat better. This pizza was a one-time thing, and she was so going for a run tomorrow before work.

"Come on, it's not that surprising."

"How do you have conversations with this guy? No, seriously?"

"Funnily enough, we don't normally talk about rape culture over dinner."

"So it's my fault for responding to his comments?"

"Nice try." He laughed to himself, shaking his head.

"What?"

"You're getting all angry about it now, but you know you love a good argument."

"It's not an academic argument, Bri, it's people's lives that are affected by it."

"Gee, I had no idea" he replied sarcastically. "Tell me more." It annoyed her how he kept his real views concealed behind this armour and focus on the conversation itself rather than the content of the conversation.

"What's your problem?"

"_I _don't have a problem here. You can get into arguments with people all you want, you can hold your own, doesn't mean I have to do it. Maybe I just felt like being distracted from things for a while."

"Okay. I get that. But there's nothing wrong with caring about something." Part of her wished he could care just as much.

"There's nothing wrong with picking your battles, either. You don't have to fight every one of them."

"Someone has to."

He rubbed his neck in frustration, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Why does it always have to be you though?"

She put her hands on her hips, steeling herself. "I'm not going to apologise for standing my ground with Ray."

"Forget Ray, I meant…forget it. You win. Whatever." He turned around and walked away, heading towards the sofa. She watched him and finally, she understood what was bothering her about it: The fed-up world-weariness it implied, the thing that she was always afraid of becoming. Or the idea that this change was inevitable, and that fighting against it was pointless.

"I know you care about things" she reminded him, because it felt like he had maybe forgotten that a little between night shifts and tasks that he had decided where evidence of being a failure.

"Can we just drop it? I don't want to go into that winning competition today."

"Oh, so it's about winning now? Very mature. Because that kind of wasn't the point."

"Wasn't it?"

She held up her hand. "Okay, no. I'm going home. See you whenever."


	28. Time

_**Author's Note:**__** I love travelling, because it gives me so much bus writing time and inspiration. You know what I also love? Reviews. 3 So thanks a lot for the continued feedback. I've been waiting for this chapter for a while, because I love sticking Nick in at every occasion.**_

* * *

[We ok?]

She didn't answer straight away. In fact, she took her sweet time with the reply, which she knew was an answer in and of itself with this kind of message if he sent it at night at a time when he knew she wouldn't be asleep yet. It wasn't that she was trying to torment him; it was just that stuff like this irked her, stuff like textual afterthoughts tacked onto a conversation twenty-four hours later. She didn't know why he always had this change of heart, this second personality in text messages. If he had something to say, he could call her. If not, then fine, but she didn't have time for this juvenile back and forth nonsense. [Sure. Why?]

[Ray]

Oh, come on, he was the last person she wanted to talk about yet again. [Charming guy]

[He can be a dick. I know. He knows.]

[If you know why not call him out on it?]

[Didn't want to get into it. Prob should have done, but shit day.]

She didn't like being in this position, being the one who nagged, and somehow, Brian brought that out in her, leaving her to take charge of things. She wanted to be able to have an adult discussion with him without him complaining that she cared too much about something. [Your choice. We don't have to agree on everything.]

[No more threesome dates with him, I promise.]

[Much appreciated]

* * *

The annoying ringtone made her freeze mid-kiss, dropping her hand from his hair to blindly reach for the nightstand. "Shit…" She was going to murder whoever saw fit to call her right at this minute.

Brian groaned. "Don't answer."

"I have to." She wasn't technically on call, but you never knew. The familiar guilt in her head told her that it could be a victim, a cry for help, a piece of vital information for an arrest.

"You don't."

"I do."

"Of course…" He responded to her firm push against his shoulder by rolling off her, disentangling their limbs while keeping one arm draped across her waist.

She brushed back her messy hair from her face and glanced at the bright screen before answering. "Yes?"

"Good morning to you, too, Liv" her partner greeted her brightly, a little too brightly for 8am on a Sunday.

"Morning, Nick." She scooted to a slightly more seated position as Brian mouthed "asshat" before dramatically burying his face in the pillow beside her. Even though Nick couldn't see her, it felt weird to be talking to him naked, and she instinctively pulled the sheet up to just under her armpits. "What's up?"

"So I cross-checked all the old case files from Queens-"

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"You should really take a break." It was as if their usual roles had somehow been reversed over the past few months, with him spending weekend after weekend burying himself in work while she actually did other things. Sometimes, anyway.

"Do you want to know or not?"

"Shoot." Brian's hand had wandered lower down to her leg, his fingers splayed on her thigh in a rather distracting manner. She swatted his hand away.

"There are no links. The MO is too different."

"You sure?"

"Positive. It's back to ground zero on Monday."

She sighed at the information of their only possible hint not checking out. "You interrupted my Sunday morning for that?"

"Do I want to know what I'm interrupting?"

"_Goodbye_, Nick."

"Wait, I wasn't finished. In one of the files, I found a reference to a cold case from 2010, a link that didn't check out for them, so I pulled the file for that one, too, and it turns out that they found the same tire impressions at the crime scene-"

"Really?"

"Yeah, it all checks out. So I think we should go over that one again." There was the unspoken implication in his words that he didn't mean tomorrow. Not with a serial case of this scale. And damn it, she needed to see that file, now.

She glanced over at Brian, who was looking up at her questioningly. They had all the time in the world to make up for this some other time. "Fill me in at the precinct?"

"Only for a quick look-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there. Bye."

Brian's expression betrayed no surprise as she put down the phone. "Duty calls?"

"Yep. Sorry. It's-"

"-a superhero emergency, I know. So how soon do you have to be there?" There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Don't even think about it."

"What? Homeboy can't wait?"

"I don't need homeboy commenting on my sex life all day!"

He grinned up at her. "Homeboy can hear when you're naked over the phone? That's some Detective skill."

"Oh, shut up." She leaned over him, her hair falling around his face like a curtain, and kissed him too quickly to be tempted into staying, pulling back too fast for him and slipping out from under the sheet, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. "I should be back in a couple of hours tops."

"Yeah, right…you know, you should really get a cape for when you do that."

"How do you know I don't have one in my closet?"

"You kicking me out of bed?"

She shrugged. "You can hang out here if you want, just don't eat all my food."

"You mean the take-out from two days ago? I'll try to restrain myself." He smirked, looking her up and down in a rather obvious way. "You going into work like that?"

"I wonder if Nick would mind" she said playfully, before walking to the bathroom with a swing in her step.

* * *

It was an unusually bright, warm morning for the season with not a cloud in the sky – a day where it was impossible to remain annoyed with her partner for calling her out of bed. Nick greeted her outside where he was leaning against his car, waiting in the sun with two paper cups in his hands, one of which he pushed on her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Still none of your business, Nick."

"Hey, I'm not trying to be an ass here. I'm trying _not_ to be an ass, actually."

"That's noble of you."

"While this thing lasts, anyway."

"You almost had me there." She gave him her best stern look, but all it did was to make his jaw tense with held back laughter. She strode on ahead of him as they headed into the building. The sooner they made a start on this, the sooner they could return to their respective weekends.

Nick caught up with her. "I can just picture the deep conversations you two must have. 'Honey, did you see that a stage adaptation of Franz Kafka's _The Trial_ is playing down on 5th?' – 'Franz Kafka? Isn't that a band?'" She didn't know which impression was more offensive, the one of her or the one of him.

"Brian's smart, actually, in his own way." This assertion did not help matters with her partner, who was practically rolling on the floor laughing now. "And for the record, I don't watch depressing German plays in my freetime. I have a life."

"Not German, Austrian-Hungarian…or Czech today, I guess. Whatever."

"Right, but I'm the one with the weird interests here…"

"Hang on, I'm still trying to imagine him lighting candles and reciting poetry to you."

"Who says I want candles and poetry?" The joke in all this was that out of the two of them, Brian was probably the greater romantic. Which wasn't saying much. "And what happened to not being an ass?"

"Right, right…sorry…" Nick took an exaggerated, deep breath. "Starting now."

She held open the glass door for him, happy to let it slam in his face if he dropped one more jab.

"I just wanted to make sure he's good enough for you."

Good Lord, he was worse than Elliot. "Don't. I'm a big girl."

"I know that."

"The second he breaks my tender female heart, I'll be sure to come over with chocolate ice cream to cry on your shoulder, while you get to avenge me by punching him."

"I'll keep a tub in stock." It irritated her that this was probably pretty close to his headcanon of how this would play out. Somehow, Nick hadn't quite grasped the fact that she was usually far more likely to be the party doing the heartbreaking. The idea seemed as lost on him as the concept of casual fun.

They came to a halt in front of the elevators, waiting for one to come. "So how come you were working yesterday?" she asked.

"Uh, well, Zara was supposed to come round, but it was never a sure thing and Maria changed plans on me again."

"I'm sorry. That's tough."

"It is what it is" he shrugged, playing it cooler than she knew he was about this. He had been looking forward to seeing his daughter all week, hoping to get her to spend time with Gil.

"So you and Maria haven't worked this thing out?"

"We're working on it. In all fairness, Zara really has a school thing tomorrow and coming over would have distracted her. And Maria…things just ended so badly between us, I don't know."

She studied his face, the dejection in it as they shared the close quarters of an elevator. "You seem less angry, though. With her."

"I regret how things ended, but I can't blame her for leaving. I was a bad husband."

"Nick…"

"No, no pity. It's just the truth. She was seeing a psychiatrist and I accused her of cheating on me. I was more worried about other men than I was about her."

He had never told her that. What she knew of their separation was what she had witnessed in public shouting matches. If there was one thing she knew, it was that it was never a great idea to get involved in other people's break-ups. "Did she confide in you?"

"No, she didn't want me to know about the psychiatrist, but that's not the point. The point is that I didn't ask her, either. I never asked her anything about what happened over there. I just figured she didn't want to talk about it, because I never did, either. I thought everything would get better with time, that we had all the time in the world. She was classic PTSD, and I…" He stopped himself, stepping out of the elevator the second the doors opened.

"You what?"

"I didn't want to see it. If we didn't talk about it, it was like it wasn't happening, you know? I've been thinking about it with this case, with Frank. How different things were after she got back, how distant she was acting. And how I blamed her for it and didn't try to get her to talk to me."

"How do you know she wanted to talk to you?" They approached his desk, and she drew up a second chair to it right away to look at the file, rather than turning on her own computer and getting distracted with other work. The squad room was nearly empty, with only a couple of unis strolling through, coffee in hand.

"What's that supposed to mean? She's my wife, we're supposed to go through things together."

"Look, Nick, I won't pretend to know much about marriage." She used the caveat to avoid getting a "how would you know?" thrown back in her face. "But just from experience, PTSD is complicated."

"I know that!" Of course he knew, he had seen enough in his own life.

"And sometimes, the people closest to you aren't necessarily the people you want to talk to about it. Not because you don't love them, but it's almost like you don't want the…bad stuff to infiltrate your relationships. Or feeling ashamed. There are a million possible reasons."

"I still should have let her know she could talk to me."

"Yeah. But the main point is: She got help, outside help. And that's a good thing."

"It is" he agreed sadly. "But sometimes, you don't get a second chance."


	29. Mother

_**Author's Note:**__** So I've kind of played around with the timeline here and changed it slightly. If that sort of thing bothers you, just don't watch Season 14's timecards too closely. And once again, the usual: You guys are great, thank you for the reviews!**_

* * *

"It's just dinner, not even fancy dinner but our regular place. A short, early dinner."

"The type of food is not the issue here."

"She's my mom, Liv, she took care of me when I was injured, I kind of owe her. She deserves a treat."

"Of course she does! You should take her out more often, as a thank you for putting up with years of…everything. I'm just not sure it's such a great idea for me to be there." She closed the last few buttons of her blouse while he did the opposite, getting ready for bed after a night shift and breakfast with her at his place. If they didn't make time for these brief, unplanned meet-ups, they would only see each other on weekends outside his work shifts. She didn't mind coming over before work, as she had always been an early riser and it was nice to have coffee with someone and talk about the morning news before heading into a strenuous day. In some ways, it was easier than switching off her brain at the end of the day.

"Why not?"

"She rarely gets to see you these days, I don't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding. You know how long she's been pestering me about bringing you along?"

"You talk about me?" The thought made her uneasy for some unknown reason. She watched him in the mirror as he sat down on the edge of the bed, taking off his watch.

"Your name might have come up… I tell her about my life, so yeah, of course I do." He stated it in an "isn't it obvious?" sort of tone. But it wasn't obvious. The type of family relationship where you could simply share something openly was a foreign one to her. She was more used to the sort of parent-child relationship where you avoided tripwires and sharing too much information in case it was likely to be used against you as a weapon later on. Still, the fact that he cared about his mother and tried to be a decent son was sweet. "Was I not supposed to?" he added as she didn't respond.

"No, don't be silly, I mean she knows about me either way."

"And you've met her before. What's the big deal?"

They had run into each other at Brian's apartment a few times the previous summer, each time prompting curious looks from the older woman, resulting in small talk and the excuse of a very pressing work emergency she had to go deal with. "I haven't met her officially, not in a 'meeting the parents' sort of way." Which, frankly, wasn't something she had ever expected to be doing again at her age.

"It's not a job interview." He smirked at her in the mirror. "I think you're making way too big a thing of this. I mean sure, she will ask you uncomfortable personal questions about your family planning-"

"Brian…!"

"Kidding. I think." The jovial grin turned into a frown so quickly. "Look, if you really don't want to go and that's all, I'll make up an excuse. Just don't make me be that guy, please."

"What guy?"

"The guy who chases after you without getting the hint."

"What are you talking about?" She lowered the lipstick she had just put on and turned around to face him.

He was completely serious now, and she didn't like it. "Sometimes, it feels like it's still 14 years ago, like I'm still on trial or trying to persuade you."

"What? Where is this coming from?" She felt blindsighted by this early morning bombshell. Brian had a way of just dropping major things like this into a conversation, of chewing on some insecurity forever, then bringing it up in a brutally honest manner when she least expected it.

"If you don't want this, just be honest. I can take it. Don't find other reasons."

"Bri, no. That's not what I was thinking. Not at all." Now who was making a big deal out of this?

He searched her face, and he looked so clueless for a minute that she almost felt sorry for him. "Then what are you worried about?"

"I just haven't done this in…I don't even know how long. It's a big step." Meeting the parents implied commitment; it signified a long-term investment in a relationship, because you didn't introduce someone to your parents if you would have to explain their absence anytime soon. "Plus, your mom and I didn't exactly get off on the best start since our investigation nearly got you killed and all."

"She knows that's not on you. I told her you were the one who saved my life. She thinks it's all terribly romantic like in her Daniel Steel novels."

"Danielle Steel." She turned back to the mirror, picking up the necklace she had removed for her shower from the little table in front of it and opening the clasp.

He came up behind her and took the necklace from her hands, gently brushing her hair aside and taking way longer than she would have needed to close it. She was watching him do it in the mirror, and something about that gentleness filled her with a warm feeling of sorts. When he was done, he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned forward. His breath tickled her ear as he promised: "I'll make it up to you later."

She smiled. "I look forward to it."

* * *

Everything about Brian was irritating, she had decided today, from the way he talked to the way it took him ages to make a decision, from the way he rinsed out empty yogurt cups and stored them for future use (what was he going to use them for, exactly?) to his mannerisms. Sure, nobody was perfect. She was far from perfect herself. But the issue was that it was never _supposed to be_ him. He had simply shown up, and she had found the annoying endearing at first, and now she was so used to him. The issue was that when you got used to someone, you started to depend on them being there, which was not ideal if the person was not very dependable. So today, after leaving him a couple of messages and getting messages back from him, after many days in a row of "texting only" contact, she had decided to stop caring if he did or didn't come over.

That was until he showed up at her door, all guilty puppy face and apologies and yes, damn it, flowers of all things, not even dead ones but live daffodils in a pot. Because daffodils evidently solved it all. _'I wandered lonely as a cloud…'_

"Things have been crazy at the courthouse, you have to believe me" he urged her. Believing him wasn't the issue. She knew he was always completely sincere when he said it. He just wasn't necessarily thinking about it outside these situations. But that was all right, because they weren't these sort of people. Or something.

"I know. Been busy myself." She set the pot down on her coffeetable. The spot of yellow instantly brightened up her living room.

"Of course, with the sniper…" He came after her when she said nothing. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She turned around and hugged him. She didn't want to talk. She just wanted to feel something, to be enveloped in some way that would melt the cold hollow inside that she had been carrying around all week.

"What's wrong?" he mumbled into her hair, wrapping his arms around her. She could smell his aftershave, a comforting pinch of familiarity.

"Nothing." She pulled back and shook her head without making eye contact, because she could sense how he was looking at her and she didn't like it.

"You got the sniper, didn't you? It was all over TV. How's Rollins?"

"Better. She's supposed to be resting at home, of course, but she's a tough one. Wouldn't stay away from the case."

"Huh, sounds familiar." He brushed back her hair and kissed her forehead, which was such a Brian thing to do, but one she didn't mind. "How is this even an SVU case?"

"It wasn't, but it was Fin's old partner who was involved."

"No way."

"Yeah. He took a bullet for him and his life spiraled downwards from there. Anyway, it's a long story. You want a drink?"

"Not right now, thanks. But I thought the shooter was that girl, the academy drop-out?" Evidently, the news coverage had brought him up to speed and she would not be able to leave this at work. He leaned against the counter as she went to grab a glass of water.

"No, she's his old partner's daughter. He knew her when she was a kid."

"Shit, that's rough. Sounds like he handled the de-escalation well though."

"He did, but it's still…you know." She shrugged. It was hard to tell with Fin either way, because he wasn't prone to sharing his thoughts. She hoped he had gone home to find some distraction.

"Sure."

"With this type of situation, there is no good outcome."

"Well, if the hostages got out alive and she's not gonna shoot any more people, I'd say that's a decent result."

She wasn't sold on the easy pragmatism. "She'd have needed help earlier. This didn't need to happen. If she had received the help she needed, it wouldn't have come to this."

"You don't know that."

"You should have seen her, Bri, she was clearly at the end of her rope. And everyone evaluated her and no one helped her – on the contrary, they kicked her when she was down. So in that sense, she had a point with her grudge against the NYPD. She was just alone with all this responsibility, one parent dead, taking care of the other, who was depressed and drinking, while trying to make it through the academy and then losing that, too…"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "You think you might be overidentifying a little?"

"Whoa, what?"

"Not with shooting people." Because that really needed to be stated. "Just the life situation with your mom and all-"

"Okay, thanks, Dr. Freud." She scowled at him. Number one, when had he become so perceptive? And number two, she could to without the lay psychologising, which was hardly called for just because she wasn't walking around celebrating this great victory.

"I'm just trying to figure out what it is about this case that bothers you so much."

"Like the part where a sniper shot at us, hit Rollins and it turned out she's Fin's ex-partner's daughter?" The moment she stated the complicated relation, she knew he had a point. It was an indirect connection and most offences she dealt with on a day to day basis were worse. Still, she didn't need him to throw that in her face.

"Sure. Or what you just said before, about the girl."

"What did you mean 'with my mom and all'?" Curiosity was getting the better of her.

"Just something Munch mentioned years ago. Not that he said anything in great depth" he added quickly, seeing her face. "Just, uh…"

"Of course Munch did." That man could never mind his own business, and had a tendency to embellish stories.

"Forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Her jaw clenched as something inside her froze up. She hadn't talked about this to anyone in so long. It was in the past, what did it matter? But if he already knew, she might as well set the record straight on whatever Munch had assumed he knew. "My situation was different from Gloria's. Having said that, I get aspects of it, you know? Like feeling like it's all on you and you have to make it, because you're all there is, and you're responsible for cleaning up someone else's mess. Running from one thing to the next, resenting someone for doing that to you, then wanting to rescue them, then resenting them again…watching someone deteriorate but being unable to do anything about it." As she said the words, the overwhelming sense of powerlessness came flooding back, and she remembered, recalled what the pressure had felt like, physically felt like in her head, always the fear of what she would find when she would open the door. The sheer unpredictability of life.

"That must have been so hard." He said it quietly, almost with a sense of guilt.

She paused, wandering over to her kitchen window and gazing out at the street below. She couldn't really see it due to the angle and the ledges. "You get used to it. You cling to the things you have, the stuff you have control over where you can prove yourself. I used to study all the time, and get good grades, then study some more. I could imagine how different it would be, how I wasn't her because I stuck to a structure…stupid things like that. Something concrete to get up for. If I had lost that, I don't know what I would have done."

"But you didn't. You made it out."

"Yeah. I made it out."


	30. Happiness

_**Author's Note:**__** Thirty chapters, unbelievable. I need to get a life or something. Because it's not like I'm in Africa or trying to become Dr. Nightwitch or anything… Counting down to the end of this story, although I know I will also be sad. Once again, feedback makes me happy and lack of feedback makes me sad, it's as simple as that. And you guys have made this a very fun ride, not a sad one. :-)**_

* * *

The innocuous suggestion that they take his car should have made her suspicious. It wasn't as if they never went outside, but this was Manhattan and "let's go for a ride" wasn't exactly Brain-speak. "Go shoot some hoops", sure. "Go grab a beer", also acceptable. Countryside drives? What was next, weekends at the golf club? So of course, when he coincidentally remembered that he had to drop something off at his mom's house, something that just happened to be in the car with them, she should have been pissed. Being tricked into another meeting within a two week period seemed a little intense, no matter how much he insisted they were only going to stop by. Naturally, they got invited inside by his delighted mother and couldn't exactly say no, so here she was again, in this tidy living room with the quilt-covered couch and photographs that screamed "happy family through the ages" at her. By all accounts, that made this meeting a little more awkward, despite the fact that she actually got on quite well with Brian's overprotective mother, who seemed to entirely missed the emphasis Brian had placed on only coming in "for a short moment".

Before long, however, the visit turned rather entertaining for her, as Joannie Cassidy pulled out albums of photographs, complete with dates and descriptions added to them in a detailed manner. It reminded Olivia of the albums her mother had started with furious zeal in her moments of guilt, when she felt the need to recreate a different life in images – albums which inevitably lay scattered and unfinished a day later. She had kept some of them stuffed away in a box somewhere and one day, when she was feeling particularly generous, she might show them to Brian. Maybe.

They had moved on from cute kid pictures to the inevitably awkward teenager pictures, complete with braces, gangly limbs and a very questionable haircut that was shorter in the front than in the back. In other words, Brian was in mortal pain listening to his mother's painstakingly detailed accounts of his athletic achievements and unhealthily long Star Wars obsession, and that alone made this worth it. She was getting payback. Olivia turned the pages, listened, asked questions and laughed in the appropriate places as Brian elaborated (and, she suspected, reinvented) history, his arm around her shoulders, while his mother kept forcing more tea on them and watching them as if she were observing a baby deer taking its first, staggering steps. Which, Liv suspected, was the whole point of this. The poor woman might as well have been carrying a "please don't ever leave him, I like that you're not an escort or a drug dealer" sign.

"So what about you when you were young, Olivia?" she asked politely as they were looking at baseball team pictures. "Did you play any sports?"

"Yes, Olivia." A smirk appeared on Brian's face. "Let's talk about you."

She wished she could glare at him openly without his mom taking notice. "Just cross country. I enjoyed running."

"Oh, really? Me too. Well, way back in the day, not anytime recently." Her expression turned distant. "But I kept it up for a long time. I used to go for a run every day before work."

"Where were you working?"

"I was an air traffic controller, for as long as I could do it."

"Really? Brian never mentioned that." Olivia was stunned. Beyond stunned. In all her wildest imaginations of her boyfriend's traditional upbringing, that certainly hadn't featured. She didn't know what she had expected – a housewife, a nursery teacher. Yes, she was prejudiced and possibly sexist. And she hadn't even bothered to ask this question at their last meeting. She had simply assumed.

"You never asked" he shrugged, as if "by the way, my mom was one of very few female air traffic controllers" wouldn't make for a good story.

"Oh, he used to be embarrassed by it."

"Not true."

"His friends used to tease him about it all the time."

"Mom, oversharing…"

"What was it like?" Olivia asked.

A pensive smile lit up the older woman's face. "Stressful, but I loved it. Back in the day, it was a boys' club. It still is, I think."

"Oh, I can imagine…"

"Is it like that with the police? I've often wondered, but Brian doesn't give me a straight answer."

"Oh yeah." They had had this conversation a few times, agreeing to disagree on the subject. "But things are changing, I think."

"Liv's gonna run the squad one day."

"Yeah, right…"

* * *

His fingers danced across her skin, slippery with the water cascading down her body. A good kind of slippery. She closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the showerhead, refreshed by the cool spray on her face and neck. She needed to get one of these rainforest showerheads. Normally, showers were a solitary activity for her. This was because she didn't enjoy sharing tiny, enclosed spaces or prolonging mundane daily rituals. She didn't need help with bodily hygiene. No, showers were for getting clean, for clearing her head at most and letting go of thoughts as someone had told her a long time ago, imagining them on leaves floating down a river. Which was literally one of the only techniques she had ever taken away from group therapy. Showers were for getting clean, and beds (or sofas, or rarely other surfaces) were for sex. These were simple rules. But her mind wasn't really on the rules, not with his fingers teasing her nipples. An impatient sound escaped her mouth, and even over the sound of the running shower, she could hear him chuckling near her ear, placing a kiss on the side of her neck. She did not appreciate this, him having the upper hand. She wasn't in the mood for fluffy foreplay, romantic kisses or adorable chitchat. So she turned around and grabbed his hips, pulling him close until he stood under the water with her.

"So hot" he mumbled, inches from her face.

She couldn't help ruining the moment by laughing, because shit, Brian really was not the most eloquent person in these sorts of situations. He looked so sweet with his hair plastered to his head, water wetting his eyelashes, trickling down his jawline. He looked much younger, and it brought back a weird memory of years ago, of younger selves entwined in bed and "that was incredible" and no, it would never have worked, because timing and all…and maybe because, truth be told, she hadn't really cared that much.

"What?" Even in the spur of the moment, even with his hardness pressed up against her skin, he noticed. And there was a weird vulnerability in that. In how she knew, and he kind of knew, but maybe he didn't and had false expectations. Because maybe underneath it all, he was still that guy, the one without the tired post-work rants about the futility of everything, without the lines on his face. Maybe she was still that girl, the one with a layer of armour, flirtatious Friday night fun and big dreams of justice. Her body wasn't exactly the same as it had been and yet, in here, that felt okay. Maybe they didn't need those past selves. Maybe they were a figment of her idealised imagination, and new imperfections had simply replaced the old ones.

She didn't reply. She kissed him to remove the doubt, and lips and tongues and hands did a pretty good job at that.

* * *

He ran his fingers through the lengths of her hair, detangling it. "Stop that" she said authoritatively. "You're making it worse."

"It's still wet."

"Well, it's a bit longer than yours, so no wonder."

He dropped his hand to her arm, pressing a sideways kiss against her forehead. If the wetness of her hair was uncomfortable on his shoulder, he gave no indication of it. It wasn't exactly the greatest feeling, having been clean and now needing another shower.

"So were you trying to convince your mom you're not gay or something?"

"You think it worked?"

"I'd say there's a fifty-fifty chance."

"She's been a little…annoying of late."

"Ha, yeah. She cares." And their conversation really didn't need to go down that route. She ran her fingers across his torso absent-mindedly until she felt them brush against the scar, the upper one in his chest. It was almost a year ago now, a little over eleven months. Time had passed so quickly, and so slowly in another sense. A year ago, they had been strangers. Almost a year ago, he had died and not died. Non-fatal gunshot wounds frequently caused chronic health issues and disability, so in that sense, he had gotten lucky. Lucky, lucky lucky. "Does it still hurt, babe?"

"Not really."

"That's not an answer."

"I wouldn't call it 'hurt'-"

"Because that would be emasculating?" She perched herself up onto her elbow to be able to look at him. She hadn't exactly seen him taking any painkillers in a while, but that wasn't saying much.

"No, it only hurts sometimes, the lower one. For the most part, it's more like…I'm aware that it's there. I feel it. Like I know something happened in there."

"I guess it's like that with a lot of things." She didn't know why this was making her emotional at all. It had to be post-orgasmic oxytocin release or something.

He grinned at her and stilled her hand's movement, intertwining their fingers. "Jesus, it's no big deal. Better not start tearing up on me or I'll kick you out of bed."

"You'd never. I'm always the one who gets up first. And this is my bed."

"Fair point. Besides, lots of cool guys have scars. Like Tony Montana. Or Harry Potter."

"Okay, this conversation just took a creepy turn…"

"No, seriously, I read this article once about how scarring in men is very attractive to women looking for 'brief relationships'."

"I'll spread the word. And by 'article', you mean you googled this specifically to find out how it affects your game, right?"

"Maybe." His grin grew a little wider. "I had a lot of time last summer. I still have to do that survey I planned on it."

She shut him up with a kiss. And one day, she would convince herself that this day in the sum of its imperfect parts was it. That this had been happiness.


	31. Routine

"Harvey is fine, he's giving them a head start, it's Davis and Duda who need to step up their game." Brian gestured at the screen like the expert he liked to pretend he was. "And not just today, I mean in general."

"Duda had a good start. And Davis had a bad start to the season last year and got a grip later, so-"

"Well, he better get a grip now. They gotta step up their offence."

"If Harvey keeps it up, they got this" she predicted confidently. This felt like a good season for them, a good day for a win.

"Of course he'll keep it up, once he's on a roll, that's it."

"His arrogance will get the better of him one day."

"His arrogance?! As long as he pitches like that, he can be arrogant all he wants." Brian was fangirling over an athlete in his mid-twenties, as usual. She had grudgingly agreed to escape the park to watch the game, determined not to enjoy it too much as she would have preferred the art exhibition –or just doing anything remotely cultural for once- but it was impossible not to get swept up in the general euphoria. The bar was crammed with the Sunday sports crowd, some of whom were showing off t-shirts it was too cold to wear outside. The floor was already sticky with spilled drinks and so the moist wood emitted a smell of yeast and mould, which mingled with the sweat people inevitably seemed to break into at this game.

She took a sip of his beer, a small one, eliciting a "tsk" from him as he took the bottle back. "You said it was too early in the day to drink."

"I'm just keeping it from getting warm."

He fought against the smirk that threatened to break through as he kept his eyes fixed on the big screen. "Get your own or leave it. I'm on an officer's pay here."

"You're such a great date" she sighed, sneaking her arm around his waist and leaning against his shoulder. "A real gentleman."

"Hey, you're the one who's all 'gender equality, baby'. Can't have it both ways."

"I thought your mom would have taught you better."

He scoffed, taking a very dramatic sip of his beer before answering. "You're my mom's favourite, I think that's been established."

"Can't argue with that." She was expecting a proposal from Cassidy Senior any day now and, God no, that was a disturbing thought. "I-" She was interrupted by her phone buzzing in her jeans pocket where she could feel rather than hear it. She pulled it out to see Amanda's name flashing up. "Damn, I have to get this."

He barely seemed to notice as she slipped out of the bar through the crowds of people, as she knew she wouldn't be able to understand a word in this noise. When she stepped out into the street, the cool air was a relief. "Hello?"

"Hi, Liv, sorry to disturb you…I know it's Sunday, but-"

"What's up?"

"So I arrested this guy and something's off about him."

"You arrested this guy…?" Rollins was off duty as well, so it took a moment for the wheels in her head to click.

"Yeah, I stumbled into something at the park and arrested him as he was flashing these girls, but he tried to make a run for it and now I can't i.d. him because-" The last part of her sentence was swallowed by loud cheering all around her and two mid-day drunks stumbling out of the bar, chanting a painful version of the Mets song.

She covered her other ear. "Whoa, slow down, sorry. What do you need?"

"Could you come in?"

"Now? You can't let an officer handle the rest?" She already knew the answer to that question. Amanda didn't call her on weekends just to say hello, and Nick had his kids to spend time with.

"I'm sorry, it's just…something's wrong here, Liv, and the girls are tourists so they're gonna leave town…"

"All right, see you in a few."

"Thanks. Bye."

She pushed her way past people into the dark bar again, finding Brian exactly where she had left him, still transfixed by the game. "Hey, you totally missed-"

"I have to go into work." She took notice of the score change.

That distracted his attention from the TV for a moment. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." She put one arm on the counter and regretted it instantly as her sleeve got covered in something undefinable. "Some park flasher Rollins arrested."

"She's calling you in for a misdemeanor?"

"She thinks there's something off about this guy."

"You mean other than the fact that he likes flashing people?"

"I don't know the details, but she usually has good instincts."

He shrugged, which was tantamount to a gesture of understanding from him. "Gotta do what you gotta do. Catch you later?"

"Maybe." She leaned in for a quick kiss before leaving the bar, pondering all the things that could possibly be off about a park flasher. And a little bit about the game she was missing.

* * *

The Mets lost the game, and they nearly lost their battle with Barba for taking this case. It took some persuasion to get him to agree to handle the arraignment the next day, something he evidently felt was below his dignity on such a low profile matter. However, she also got the sense that everyone slept a little better knowing that this guy, Lewis or whatever he was really called, was in central booking for the night. Amanda had been right about him. Even so, the fact that she had gotten nothing out of him gnawed at her, and when even Barba agreed to the possibility of something being off, letting them know that they needed to dig deeper if this had any hope of going anywhere, she was concerned. Concerned and determined to find something, anything. If he was going to these lengths to hide his identity, that meant there was something to be hidden.

She went to the empty cribs to make her phone call, as she didn't need Fin or Amanda listening in, both of whom were still trying to track down a possible route of movement for whoever-he-really-was.

"Yeah?" What a charming way to answer his phone.

"Hey."

"Hi, what's up? Got sucked into a case or something?" It was obvious he was chewing something from his muffled speech.

"Something like that."

"Yeah, I kind of figured." It was oddly pleasant to hear his voice in all its casualness, because he_ just_ _got it_. He didn't really need to ask why she had never gotten back to him the previous night, didn't read anything into it or sulk. It just was what it was, their routine of not having a real routine.

Even so, she felt a weird need to explain. "I wanted to be prepared for the arraignment, so I did some background reading."

"You study for arraignment court? That's…dedicated."

"It was a strange case. The perp will do anything to keep his DNA out of the system, wouldn't even agree to time served."

"That flasher dude?"

"Yeah. Except he's not just a flasher, he's…well, we don't know exactly _what_ he is, but there's something else. And he'll do anything to keep his identity hidden. Insists he's innocent."

"Maybe he is?"

Yeah, and maybe pigs could fly. She scratched at a coffee stain on her pants in irritation. She really didn't need him to play devil's advocate here. She wasn't even supposed to discuss this with him; this was completely unprofessional. "No way. He's not your regular hobby Sunday pervert, either. He's got priors, undetected ones. I have a gut feeling about him."

"All right." He didn't sound convinced. It was a patronising "all right", the sort that really stood for "whatever you say" or "I'm too lazy to argue". The sort she resented.

"You should have seen him, Bri, he's the perpetual victim. He accidentally exposed himself, the witness –a nice older lady- is obsessed with him, the halfway house didn't help him, he _accidentally _burned off his own fingerprints right before-"

"He what?"

"Exactly." She got a weird satisfaction out of being right, out of making him acknowledge it in some way. She had to be right about this.

"So what now?"

"He's out for now and the case will get thrown out for sure. We keep searching. People don't just materialise out of thin air."

"Hm, yeah." He was only half listening, his attention evidently grabbed by something else.

"What are you up to?"

"Getting ready for work."

"I thought you had the graveyard shift all week?" She sat down on one of the bunk beds, grateful for the momentary distraction.

"Funny, so did I" he grumbled. "They switched it around again."

"Romanski?"

"Who else? The guy has it out for me."

"Jealousy…"

"Ha, or not. I try to keep my head down, but seriously, one of these days, I _will_ tell him to go fuck himself."

"Probably not the best idea. Career-wise and all."

"Or spit in his coffee."

"Very mature."

"Wanna trade?"

"Right now? No way." As much as the inability to find what she was looking for irked her, this search was also what she lived for. More so than doing…whatever it was he did at work. "So when are you free from Romanski and his reign of terror?"

"Uh…Thursday night? If you're not busy?"

"We'll see."

He paused. "You're still at work, aren't you?"

"Maybe."


	32. Disgust

_**Author's Note &amp; Warning:**__** This story was never meant to go this far, but as it grew and matured and I got increasingly attached , the last chapter took shape in my mind – and that one has been standing for a while, thanks to all the wonderful feedback I got from all of you. So yes, I made the decision to continue this through Her Negotiation and Surrender Benson, and as you can guess, this means that the story takes a radical turn and shift in tone from here. I have a very specific way of doing this in mind, one which I hope will not indulge in gratuitous, graphic descriptions of violence – but at the same time, if you know the episode, you know what will happen and know that even allusions to it can be upsetting. I will add more specific warnings to each chapter. For this chapter, my only warning would be that it contains a short reference to sexual violence from a victim statement. So you may wish to decide at this point that the story ended at Chapter 30 as it was originally supposed to with the lines: "And one day, she would convince herself that this day in the sum of its imperfect parts was it. That this had been happiness." If this is the case, then thank you so much for reading and thank you for all the wonderful feedback! It means a whole lot to me.**_

* * *

They had failed. There was no other way of putting it. Alice Parker hadn't needed to be attacked in her own home. If the system had worked, if they had looked a little more closely, if they had been faster in digging up new information, she wouldn't have been. They had failed, and everything from the woman's wounds to the smell of burned flesh at her apartment, from the sirens as they rode to the hospital to the harsh light overhead as she stared up at the ceiling during an invasive examination while Olivia talked to her in gentle tones was a reminder of that fact. Obtaining a statement took some time, since Ms Parker was in urgent need of medical attention, but she was determined to give it as quickly as possible and her bravery was something to admire. The older woman had no family she wanted to call, no one she wanted to, as she put it, "upset", so Olivia stayed with her throughout the collection of the rape kit – to get information, yes, but also because she simply wouldn't leave her there. She couldn't, not as she was recounting detail after horrific detail of the worst day of her life. There was a need for clinical accuracy in how Ms Parker narrated the incident in the most formal words she could muster, which only unraveled as time went on.

Silent tears streamed down her face as she concluded. "…and I couldn't move, so I just waited. I was just…I was so afraid he'd c- come back…when I heard- but it was Eva…and then she called you."

"And do you know how much time passed between when Lewis left and when she arrived?"

"No, I was…um…I don't know. Sorry."

"That's all right" Olivia said softly, pausing for a moment to give the older woman time to catch her breath as she handed her another tissue. "You're doing really well here. You mentioned church bells earlier? Around the time he left? Could you tell if it was the early morning service or the later one?"

Ms Parker's face took on a distant expression. "Early, I think. Because the light was- and the birds were making noise…I watch birds, you know."

"Yeah. Thank you, Ms Parker. Knowing all these details is really important. It'll help us find him."

"You will find him, won't you? He can't- oh God, what if he comes back?" She reached out and grabbed Olivia's arm in panic.

Liv covered her hand with hers. "We'll find him." She wasn't supposed to make false promises, but this was one she had every intention of keeping. "And you won't go home alone until we do."

"Before he left, he said he needed a drink" she added urgently. "He was getting angry because I was all out."

"Okay, that's good to know. Did he say anything else about where he was going?"

"No." Ms Parker shook her head, desperately biting her lip. She was pushing her, and she hated that she had to be doing this right now, but they needed to find Lewis. This part was always the hardest, making the victims tell their story, hearing unspeakable things in their own words.

"Did he make reference to any particular places? Places he's been, places he likes, any mention at all?"

"I don't…he talked so much, about so many things, but mainly about what he would do to me." Her eyes suddenly widened as a look of horror crossed her features. She was remembering something as she tensed up.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I…it's not a concrete place."

"It could still be relevant. I know this is hard, Ms Parker. But any detail helps."

"Well, when he, uh, you know…" She got flustered, crossing her arms in front of her stomach and averting her gaze.

"When he raped you?"

"No, when he made me…fellate him…he said I wasn't bad, but not half as good as 'that bitch from down the swamp'." Her voice began to shake. "Because I was less of a whore."

A surge of disgust went through her. "Anything else?"

"No. That's all he said."

They were interrupted by the nurse's return, a middle-aged woman with a "don't mess with me" attitude, who walked up to them with a stride that made it clear she meant business. "Detective, I've told you Ms Parker needs to rest. Her blood pressure-"

"It's all right" the patient interrupted her. "I want them to catch him."

"And you've given us a lot to go on for now, thank you." Olivia got up from her chair. "Are you sure you don't want to call anyone to stay with you?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

* * *

Everyone was angry. Barba, Amaro, Rollins – they were so on edge you could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. There was something about having Lewis right there, but being unable to touch him, not being allowed to push past that wall of legal protection and the smug grin that made her want to hurt him. That made her think of Elliot, for some random reason, and how he would have loved to shove that guy into a wall – and of course, Lewis would have used that to get off in court. It was hard to believe that he really was that smart, considering the idiocy of attacking a witness that had just reported him to the police and leaving his DNA all over her place. There was no way he was getting out of this, and still, she had been so close to a confession. She had her confession, really, for all intents and purposes; it was a technicality.

Nick came up beside her as she poured herself her third cup of coffee. "You okay?"

"Are you?" she snapped, too hyped up on caffeine and adrenaline for a filter. "After hearing that?" She felt like she was covered in some sort of sticky slime, or a stench she would be unable to get out of her clothes. _"Or you wanna hear about the pyrotechnics? How I put out my cigarettes on her?"_

"Well, I'm not the one he was…engaging with."

"I had him, Nick. He said the words, you heard him."

"Because he enjoyed that he was getting to you."

"Does it really matter why?" She spilled some coffee while stirring vigorously after pouring milk into it in an attempt to at least dilute the caffeine intake somewhat. "Damn it!"

"Here…" He took out a tissue and wiped the stain away. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Amanda was watching them, deliberating whether to join them or not. "For what it's worth, I got sick listening to him, too. I mean the guy nearly came in his pants. If we'd stayed in there much longer, I'm not convinced it would have gone so well. For either of us." He was probably right about that. His anger had not been instrumental, but real.

"I could have handled him by myself."

"Oh yeah? He knew you were trying to play him; he was _getting off_ on your disgust, Liv."

She put her hands on her hips. She was sick of his moral superiority, his big brother act of explaining the world to her while flipping out over the fact that she was in some perp's fantasies now. She had been doing this a lot longer than him. "Did you have a better idea?"

"That's not what I meant. You did good."

"So what's the problem?"

"Don't let him get into your head like that. That's what he wanted. He doesn't deserve it."

"_She did things she never expected to do…she never imagined were possible…with her fingers…with her mouth…" _The words were clearly etched into the coils of her brain. How could they not be? She opened her mouth for a gruff reply when Amanda broke it up by approaching them with an annoyed look on her face. "Guys, this isn't getting us anywhere. We have a hell of a lot of material from a whole lot of states to go through. So…do you mind?"


	33. Forgetting

_**Author's Note:**__** I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update this time around. I think I am avoiding or, rather, postponing the inevitable a little because it scares me…but no worries, no scary stuff in this chapter yet aside from general bad mood! I am going to be travelling next week (and hopefully finding lots of inspiration on the road), so this is most likely the last update before I leave on Saturday. But if you want to make me smile as I sit on buses for 20+ hours in a row, leave me a review or talk to me about anything on Twitter nightwitch87. **__** Thank you!**_

* * *

Suicide watch was what he had gotten as a reward for choking himself a little. Hurrah for the system! You were always in for a surprise there, not that it usually worked in anyone's favour. It wasn't as if anyone would have missed Lewis greatly if he had died, except that lawyer he had a thing with maybe. How Mayer could be so blind was beyond her. Yes, Lewis was a con man, and yes, she was on the receiving end of his manipulations and it was wrong to blame someone for that, but come on! With this history, with the photos there were of his previous victims, she had to know better. She simply _had to_. Even if she didn't know the full story and refused to believe the horrors of his actions, there was no way you could push past these disgusting details. Today, Olivia was done making excuses, done with this job and the world and people telling her there was something wrong with her for being angry with Lewis, that she was "projecting" (coming from the woman who was screwing her client). There had to be something wrong with whoever managed not to take this personally. He simply could not get away with this again. You would have to be completely dissociated from reality not to want Lewis behind bars.

Detachment, on the other hand, was an impossibility, something she would have time for once this was all over. She would power through this weekend, because it was the one that mattered and they couldn't afford to leave any stone unturned, not with the delusional confidence Lewis had displayed in turning down the plea bargain. Everything had to be perfect. All she needed was a few hours of sleep at home in her own bed, and a glass of wine before would help her achieve that without a doubt, would get Lewis' smug grin, Alice Parker's body and Mayer's words out of her head.

Or so she had thought. Until Brian had to show up unannounced on her doorstep after days of very sporadic texts, mutual cancellations and missed phone calls. He looked tired, scruffy and entirely dumbstruck when she pinned him against her kitchen counter, as the last thing she wanted to do was to answer questions or talk – not that he was keen on either, judging from the way his fingers dug into her hipbones as he kissed her. There was nothing sweet about it, and in this screwed up world, urgency was her friend. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, clutching his shirt, the familiar smell of his aftershave mixed with the slightly less fresh Brian-smell surrounding her. She allowed herself to let go with no words needed between them, and when she felt his lips on her skin, there was a true appreciation for how easy this was, how _fun_. Until she started thinking about Lewis, the court case and how she would have to go into the precinct tomorrow, and that lawyer and burns and… "Wait."

"What?" he mumbled against her neck, clearly not too keen on waiting.

"Not now." She placed one hand on his chest and took a step back, trying to get her thoughts together.

His arms dropped to his sides. "Did I do something, babe?"

"No, it's not you, it's just…work." She wanted to. She also didn't. She didn't know what she wanted. More wine? Sleep? She wanted it to be Monday already so they could move forward with this.

He bit his lip. "Right. Um, I heard. Sick guy."

"You can say that again. You want a drink?"

"No, I'm good, thanks. Don't waste the good stuff on me." She made herself smile, because Brian could barely tell the difference between whatever happened to be on sale for $5 a bottle and pure oak-matured goodness. Not that quality really mattered when you were trying to get buzzed.

She leaned against the fridge and took a sip of her wine, swirling the liquid around in the glass so she could see the red streaks it left. The warm, relaxed feeling she yearned for hadn't kicked in yet. "The son of a bitch killed her."

"I thought it was a heart attack."

"That she had after he raped and tortured her for 18 hours. But apparently, that's not enough for a causal link."

He grimaced at her words. "Shit. That's not on you, though. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know." It made no difference. She couldn't get it out of her head, the futility of it all, the fact that they hadn't protected Alice Parker. The apartment she had gone back to after her ordeal, the lingering smell even days later caught in the fabric of her furniture. "But we _had_ him, just like they had him before, and he walks every single time. I know this sort of thing happens, but I can't wrap my head around it. Every time."

"But there's gotta be evidence, right? After…that" he muttered uncomfortably.

"Oh, that's the best part. Apparently, we planted the evidence since I have –how did she put it?- a 'personal vendetta' against Lewis."

"That's a bullshit defence, everybody knows that."

"Tell that to the lawyer who thinks she's in love with her client."

"What the fuck?"

"Exactly." She leaned her head against the metal, wishing the cool would penetrate her mind like a soothing balm. "I know it's a good case and based on what we have, we should win; there's no way he walks again, but he turned down the plea and he has that woman fighting for him now…anything could happen. It shouldn't, but it could."

"You don't know that."

"I just have a feeling." She picked up her glass again, swirling her wine once more before setting it down, unable to settle on one thing to do, and yet equally unable to do anything. "There's something about what other people see when they look at this guy. You don't wanna know what happened to his last lawyer-"

"No, I don't. Jesus, Liv…" He was looking at her in a weirdly thoughtful way, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

"What?"

"Do you ever wonder about the toll this job is taking?"

"Don't start." Not him, too, of all people. He was supposed to get it, since he would jump off a bridge here and now if someone promised him his shield back in return. Brian was the first man in a long time who didn't have a problem with her job, who let her be and didn't complain that she was working too much or got a little too interested in what she was working on. He was the first man she had ever dated who seemed to understand, in a way, how important this was to her. For him to even ask her this question right now felt like a massive betrayal.

"You're so upset-"

"Because this is something to be upset about! I'm not _projecting_ any anger here; there's something wrong with the world when being angry about a serial rapist is considered overemotional!"

"I'm not saying you're overemotional, damn it, but you haven't been home all week, when was the last time you slept?"

"Says the guy who works endless overtime. I've been kind of busy, Bri."

"Fine, you know best, as usual." He said it in the tone of a sulky teenager, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"What I know is that I'm a little sick of defending myself for wanting to put a serial rapist away-"

"You know that's not my point."

"-it's just not what I expected, coming from you." She was trying hard not to yell at him, but he sure was making it difficult. He never knew when to drop something.

"Look, I know what it's like to be totally immersed in a case" he explained urgently, "so much it becomes everything and it's like your entire life depends on just getting that one guy. Like if you could just get that one guy, everything would be right with the world again and you are _so close_. I really get it."

"Exactly." She knew what he was about to add, all these things Huang had told her about how she tended to overidentify and so forth, so she put up her hand to stop him.

"Yeah, and that's usually a sign that it's time to take a step back."

"Did you take a step back with Ganzel? Did you pull out when we told you the heat was on you? No, you had to go and get yourself shot first."

"That's why I'm saying this!" he exclaimed, as if this proved his point. "I know what I'm talking about, okay?"

"It's not the same thing. I didn't choose to handle this case; it's just what I got handed."

"You chose SVU, and if it's is having this effect on you, then maybe it's time to walk away."

"You're right, I guess I could hang out with pimps and bang hookers for a living!"

For a moment, he looked at her like he couldn't quite believe she had actually just said that. It was a mixture of incredulity and genuine hurt that made him go quiet. Finally. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, neither do you, so how about let's stay out of each other's careers."

"Works for me." He grabbed his jacket from where it had dropped onto the counter and pushed past her without so much as a glance back. "You know, I've been around a lot of people, but you're the worst person to help."

* * *

It took a lot –a few hours of wine-induced sleep and a morning of immersing herself in Lewis' file at her desk, to be exact- for her to type the words [I'm sorry] and press send after deliberating for half an eternity. Apologies weren't exactly her strong suit.

It took a lot for him –one hour and thirty-nine minutes, to be exact- to reply [Wanna go look at some stupid airy paintings tomorrow? I'll keep the mocking to a minimum.]

The message made her smile in spite of herself. He listened. Sometimes. [Sorry got prep to do. Rain check? What about Monday night?]

[ok]


	34. Survival

_**Author's Note:**__** My apologies for the delay in updating. I've been rather busy with real life stuff lately and haven't really had much internet. I hope to finish this story over the next two weeks, though, so there is hope on the horizon. **__** As I said previously, things are about to get more intense and disturbing. While I stand by my earlier statement that I will not do graphic depictions of violence, we will be in Olivia's head during what happens to her, so…enough said. Lewis' voice may also be upsetting, so a particular warning extents to that. Finally, if you do end up reading it, I would love it if you could tell me what you thought of it. Thanks.**_

* * *

The cold metal of the gun rests against her forehead, unyielding, merciless. It is a hard fact, yet it feels surreal in that moment, as if the past thirty seconds are something that can simply be undone. As if she can react correctly and pull out her gun in a do-over. But somewhere, the rational part of her tells her in a strange, calm tone that now is not the moment for that. Not with a barrel pointing at her head. Any sudden movement she makes now will be her death.

He looks her up and down with a sneer of contempt –or no, not contempt- pleasure. The two lie so close together in his eyes, eyes she cannot contact, no matter how hard she tries to ignore the blurry edges and the feeling of the metal against her skin. Time is dead, meaningless, and it is all she can do to keep breathing as the bile rises at the back of her throat. She will die. She cannot die like this. She must not.

The corners of his mouth curl up into a suave smile as he takes her in, and just like that, something inside her takes over, controls her panic and takes charge of the situation. She will _not _die. As long as she doesn't bore him. She must fight back, whatever it takes. When he is vulnerable. The first thirty minutes are everything. This means nothing to him, this is a night of fun, this is domination; she is expendable. He is being impulsive. This is unplanned. She is in her own apartment, which she knows. She can't afford to be afraid. She should say something, anything to buy time, but her throat is dry. She will survive.

* * *

"I know what you like. All your files, remember? I saw the pictures. I won't make it easy for you, I'll struggle and-"

"Sweetheart, you don't get how this works, do you? Of course we'll have fun! We'll have all the fun in the world…"

"Ah!"

"…on my terms."

"Tell…me about it."

"Shut up! You think I'm here to talk to you, you stupid bitch? We're done talking! You think that's what I want, a quick fuck, a bit of a struggle? I want you to _want_ it. I'm gonna make you beg for it. Oh, got you there, didn't I, Olivia? What, you think that's not gonna happen? You're delusional. We have all the time in the world."

"I'm-"

"What did I just say about not talking?! You know, I'm getting really tired of your screams. Good thing I came prepared."

* * *

Someone will come to her apartment. Eventually. Brian or…or someone. It is the thought she clings to as the tape blocks her screams, the rope restricts her attempts at defence. She just has to hold out long enough, keep fighting long enough, and someone will come. She has to focus her energy until then, and not think about the cigarettes, not anticipate… Someone will miss her. Or Lewis will grow careless, and she will knock him out, she will, she will, but oh fuck, it hurts and hurts and…

* * *

"Not so tough now, are you, Detective? Drink up, it'll numb the pain, there's a good gi- wow, you're feisty, aren't you? That wasn't smart. This could be the only drink you'll get."

* * *

She tries to go away inside as he hurts her, to show as little reaction as possible. It becomes a sick game of sorts, a back and forth of action and reaction, a struggle for control. Blood fills her mouth as she bites her tongue. Unconsciousness won't come. If she fights hard enough, maybe it will, maybe he'll knock her out. She tries to think of escape plans – there are five she could come up with before the pain took over. She tries to make lists of things, of objects she could use to hurt him, of places she's been, people she's seen, reasons why she can't die today. They all blend into one another like a stream of meaningless images punctuated by blinding whiteness. She can't die today. Because if she gets out of here, she won't be like her mother. She'll live, like hundreds of women she has talked to over the years. She will be one of these women. People survive horrible things all the time. Their faces stay with her. And her mom. And Brian. And…Elliot. Who, for some reason, seems best suited to occupying her mind, who is the half that is missing. It's not the big stuff that comes to mind, it's little things, afternoons spent at the office, fights they had, stupid things he said a long time ago or maybe she is only imagining this now. If she doesn't get out of this alive, their non-goodbye really will have been it.

* * *

"I like you better this way, all quiet, so sorry, time for the tape to go back on. Just don't throw up, 'cause if you do, you'll suffocate. I've seen it happen before, trust me. I'd hate for it to end too quickly. So man up! Ooh, you hate that saying, don't you? And still, you're secretly hoping for a man to come and rescue you, aren't you? They all do. But that's what makes you so great: No one actually gives a shit about you. You'll be away from work, and people will go 'hmm, where's Olivia today? Oh, who knows, probably just sitting home alone again.' That little partner of yours will be relieved. No one to babysit him. You don't have friends, you only have colleagues, am I right? Not the same thing. And that loser boyfriend of yours, Brian? Didn't sound like he was too keen on that date with you! What happened there, a bit of an after work hook-up, exchanging shop talk? God, that's pathetic. You secretly thinking about your cases while he fucks you, wishing it would be rough? Don't worry, honey, he'll run at the first chance he gets. No one wants my left-overs. He'll feel sorry for you, sure, but all he'll see is damaged goods and no one gets it up for that. If you ever see him again – haven't made my mind up about that yet. I'd be doing you a favour by ending it now. But fingers crossed your heart is stronger than that dried up old cunt's. Not that anyone would miss you."

* * *

No one is coming for her. Not today, not yesterday, not tomorrow, not ever. How much time has passed? She can't be sure, passed out as she was. It is night. How can it still be night? How could she be out? It is dangerous, she can't lose consciousness, she can't, she has to fight the pills, the way her eyelids are so heavy she can barely lift them at that threshold of bare minimum consciousness. Brian isn't coming. No one is expecting her at work. No one is coming to save the day. She can't think about that. She can't despair, and she certainly can't notice the soreness between her legs and wonder where that's coming from. She can't think about what she feels trickling down her chest. How long has it been? No one is looking for her. If she were normal, this would not be happening. If she were normal, if she had a family, if she were someone…but she mustn't allow Lewis into her head. This isn't right. She is happy, she is supposed to be having beers with Brian right now, she is supposed to go for a run tomorrow. She is normal. No one can ever know about this. She let her guard down. She fought, but it was too late and he overpowered her. She failed.

* * *

"Up we get! Oh, you didn't think that was it, did you? We're only just getting started."


	35. Culpability

_**Warnings and such:**__** Same old, same old. No graphic descriptions of violence, but obvious implied violence and general Lewis disturbing-ness. Read at your own recognizance.**_

* * *

The darkness around her comes almost as a relief. This way, she doesn't have to see just how close her metal coffin is to her. She can pretend it isn't getting hotter and hotter and, oh God, what if she runs out of air? It seems to be growing thicker by the second as her breathing quickens. She has to slow down or she'll pass out again and lose track of time. How long have they been parked for? She has to draw attention to herself, she has to get the car noticed, but the handcuffs are too tight on her, designed to restrain people irreversibly, dangerous people she used to contain in another life. She has tried kicking against the top of the trunk to make noise at the least, but there is no room to maneuver or work up any leverage and it uses up all her air and energy. Her limbs are strained stiff, her entire skin, her body, feels like it's on fire, and it's too much, she can't stand one more second of it, but her tears choke her where they mingle with her sweat and then the next second irreversibly comes, and then the next…

She needs to pee again so bad, but then the air would become even more unbearable and she would have failed in one more way. This is something she can hold on to, something she can control. If it were at least a turn-off to him…but it isn't, he gets off on the complete humiliation, stench or no stench. She doesn't know how there can still be urine left inside her, since she is so very thirsty. As the effects of the pills and alcohol wear off, the pain gets worse. Her tongue lies like a pile of heavy rubber in her mouth, which tastes of iron.

He will move her beyond doubt. The longer he keeps her in this car, the better her chances of discovery. As her head clears, she tries to form rational thoughts, to recall details from years of training, from his files, from other files, so she doesn't lose her mind. So she can think about anything but the way her wet clothes cling to her open skin. The trunk release isn't an option, since Lewis disabled it, even if she could get at the bit of cable that is still there. She has tried to reach the brake lights –if she can push them out, he might get pulled over- but she can't get at them, no matter how she twists against the pain. He cleared out the trunk so, aside from the soiled sheets, there is nothing she can use to her advantage. Her hands have grown almost numb, and she tries to keep them moving despite the pins and needles this causes. When he moves her, she has to leave a trail behind. If he moves her. She heard voices some time ago, but she can't be sure. A surprising resolution washes over her. She knows what she will do.

* * *

"Water…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's been a while, hasn't it? You don't look so great. You know, I just had a nice Sauvignon Blanc with dinner. Shame you missed it. There was a roast and potatoes –not the bland kind, the crispy kind with rosemary-"

"Water!"

"Watch that tone, sweetheart…"

"Ah!"

"You're not gonna get very far that way. No. I like to hear you beg, like last night…'stop, stop, _please _stop!' Much better. So how about we try that?"

"Water…please…I need to…please…"

"That's better. And maybe, if you're a good girl and play along, I'll give you some…after. We're gonna have some fun first."

"Fuck you!"

"Ha. No, no, it's not me we'll do now, but you'll get your wish. I have another surprise for you. But have some of this first. I know, right, it's the good stuff, not the cheap crap I buy."

* * *

The woman pleads with her. Despite everything he is doing to her, she is pleading with _her_, not him, her eyes wide with terror, choking on her own sobs. She is clearly done screaming. She can't scream any more as her husband lies dead on the floor and the man who killed him remains impervious to her begging. So she focuses on Olivia, as if she had the power to stop him, as if she's a participant in any of this. She is, of course, because whenever the fog in her head overwhelms her and her eyelids slip, he hurts her more. It's all her fault, and she's a cop who is supposed to protect people, supposed to do something to deflect his attention from the victim, but all she can do is to keep her eyes trained on the woman's face, trying not to see anything else, trying not to process what happens around the blurry edges of her vision. Trying not to make a sound and the ugly truth is that she is glad that he is distracted, occupied, that his attention is not on her. She can breathe and the air is cool out here and if he kills that woman, it's all her fault, because right now, she is relieved it's not her.

She knows that she should do something heroic. It's what the woman expects, but what can she do? She can barely move, Lewis has her gun, and if she makes one false move, he will kill them both. She can't talk, she can't act, she can't…And maybe, maybe he'll be done after this, maybe he will let the woman live, maybe he'll leave in a hurry and leave both of them behind. Why did the victim open the door? Why didn't she pull her gun out when she heard that noise? Why doesn't Brian have keys? It all becomes a blur in her head, the failures, the woman, their screams, Lewis' face, Lewis raping, the cigarette smoke, and if anyone finds out that she allowed this to happen, they will hate her for it. She is nothing. But she must not close her eyes, whatever happens.

* * *

"…some nerve, falling asleep while I'm doing her! She paid for that, believe me! How does it feel, knowing you probably killed her? Bet she's bleeding out right now or maybe her heart will give out, too. She was real disappointed you didn't save her. But you and I both know that's not why you're in this business. You're not saving anyone, it's too late for that by the time you enter the scene. You're just trying to work through your own bullshit by coming in and letting them cry on your shoulder, promising them justice when the truth is that they'll never forget and that the guy will get away with it, because everyone likes a good-looking rapist more than a whiny slut who wants it but is too afraid to admit it. And you're old enough to know that, so maybe you've even felt a little guilty with your bullshit promises and your clean vest, because you didn't really know what it's like. Well, now you do. First hand. Was it what you expected? Was it how you imagined it when you spent all those long hours at your desk, obsessing over sex while everyone else went home to their families? Or…maybe you knew all along and that's why you're in this business, huh? Like, saving yourself? Or maybe you get a little turned on reading the case files, just like you did for me before –you know you enjoyed that show, don't deny it- and you can't fucking admit it because it doesn't go with that hero image of yourself that you create so you don't have to face the truth: You're a worthless pervert, just like the rest of us, and if I'd let you choose between her or you, you'd have had me shoot her."

* * *

They are sitting on a beach somewhere, under a sky heavy with purple clouds as the last light of day graces an orange horizon. The glow of the setting sun sends orange ripples along the surface of the water. It is silent, waveless.

"I expected more from you, Olivia." Her face is illuminated by a sad smile, younger than it should be. There are no vertical lines between her eyebrows, no dark shadows under her eyes. Her hair flows freely in the wind.

"Mom?" She is losing it, she must be losing it. Her mother doesn't live here. her mother lives at…

"Haven't I taught you not to get yourself into situations like that?"

"Like what? I didn't do anything. I couldn't do anything." She has to understand. She would understand.

"You always have a choice" she insists.

"Help me…" It comes out as a strangled request. "Please."

"I can't."

"He'll kill me." She doesn't know who he is, or where he is, or why.

"Better off dead, trust me."

"No, you wouldn't-" Her words are swallowed by the rising wind, which whirls up the sand until it grows dark all of a sudden, and she is alone out at sea, as the cold pulls her out and the water is starting to fill her lungs.


	36. Loss

_**Warnings and such:**__** Pretty much the same as the previous two chapters with more implied sexual violence, although Olivia is obviously losing it a little more after all this time and Lewis is being Lewis, and you know which part we are nearing here. I should add that I have been lucky enough to never have been through a brutal kidnapping myself, so I (luckily) have no idea if I am doing the subject matter justice. I hope you can forgive me for anything that feels off.**_

* * *

She has lost track of time. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn't, but at some point, the hours blend together, the days and nights become an endless haze of pain, drugs, sleep (?), more pain, being trapped and driven around endlessly. When she wakes up to the sound of his voice in the dark in an unfamiliar environment, all she has left is sheer panic. Thoughts of strategy and attempts to understand Lewis, to unpuzzle him as if this would help her save herself, have fled at last. The best she can do is to play dead so he doesn't invent some new game to torture her, doesn't do a pit stop, doesn't ever stop driving, doesn't make up fresh humiliations to trade for water. There is nothing left he can get out of her, except for one thing. And once he is done with that, she will be discarded like a doll that bores him, and she knows what will happen then. She has seen the pictures. She used to believe this would give her control, an advantage in handling this situation, but now the images just terrorise her in their inevitability. The best she can do now is to stay alive from one moment to the next, long enough for someone to find her. They must be looking for her by now, surely. People can't just disappear off the face of the earth without anyone caring. _Of course they can. That's what makes you the perfect victim. No one will miss you._ But no, she can't think like that, she can't give up.

She tries to think of reasons to stay alive, of why she shouldn't force the end to come sooner. What is this string that tethers her to this earth? Life? It's sacred or something. _Come on, sweetheart. You don't believe that. _She used to care about her job, her passion. _And look where that got you. _She knows she used to care. _Olivia_ used to care. Olivia used to like coffee and summer and red wine and walking through exhibitions, but all that feels unreal now. Who was that woman? Didn't she know better? Fuck, it sounds like a eulogy. She used to like lying in bed with Brian on a Sunday morning and getting into arguments over sports games. But none of the above sound like particularly good reasons for living, the kind that make people go "oh no, you can't die, you have [a kid, a significant other, a mission]". Or for not existing in a place of no feelings, which sounds like a relief right now. If she died, her squad would miss her for sure, and presumably Brian, and maybe even Elliot –she feels a second of insane satisfaction at that idea- they might feel guilty, but they would get over it. They don't depend on her. Life would go on. She tries to picture their faces. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? But she can't, because that is too much as if they are watching her, and she can't bear that thought.

But she has to live, because otherwise, Lewis wins and her mom was right. And they can't win.

* * *

"Well, that was tragic. Another life lost on your watch, not that we're counting, Detective. He was so young, too, downright adorable. Did you honestly think he'd be the one to save the day? Are you actually that stupid? I thought I'd taught you better. No one is coming to save you. You can't even save yourself. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging me for death. Because it would be much easier, wouldn't it, if I put that gun to your head and pulled the trigger? Sorry, honey, that's not gonna happen just yet. Oh, so you're not gonna talk to me now when I finally let you? The silent treatment, is that the best you got? Like that's some big loss to me? Like I'm interested in your _mind_? Don't worry, I have ways to make you talk, to make you scream. You'll talk, and you'll beg me to hand you your gun back so you can do the honours yourself."

"N- never."

"What's that?"

"Never! I want to live."

"God, that's why I love you. Seriously. So much spirit, even now."

"Let me live with the memory of-"

"Shut up! You don't dictate the terms!"

* * *

Okay. If this has to happen, then okay. She can still taste her metal in her mouth; she can still feel his hands on her, "helping", probing, invading. She can still smell him in her clothes, even underneath the cigarette smoke, blood and other fluids. If this means she can survive, then okay. Let it come. Let it be over with already. If she gets out of this alive, she will do better. She will be better. She will change everything. She will _live_. That is all that matters. That is all that matters. That is all that matters. This is only her body. It's a physical response, nothing else. It doesn't mean consent. It doesn't diminish her value. It doesn't say anything about her. There is no shame in it. It is just one more act of violence, and really, if it's between this and the blowtorch, then… It is violence. It has nothing to do with sex. She has said these words a million times, and now she is willing herself to believe them. And if anyone finds out that this happened…but they won't. Not unless she dies. She can't die.

* * *

"This'll hurt a little. Just be grateful I'm saving the blowtorch for later; that would _really _suck. If you try anything, it'll hurt a lot more. Relax…relax…you're so tense…I'd say think of something else, like try to imagine it's your boyfriend's dick or something, but I guess you wouldn't know _who_ to picture-"

"Shut…the fuck up…ah! Aah!"

"You stupid bitch, you never learn, do you? Say you're sorry. Say it!"

"I'm…m…sorry…"

"There's a good girl. Now, I promised I'd take care of you, too. You know you want it. I can feel it."

* * *

She goes away again as best as she can. Or she wants to, but if she goes to a specific place, that place will forever be associated with this. So the places linger like fleeting images at the back of her mind and not one actually sticks as Lewis always gets through to them, permeating her refuge with his voice, his touch, the blinding pain that would make her vomit if she had anything to vomit. She doesn't want to lose these places, these people just yet, but they are slipping from her grasp, tumbling through space like scraps of paper that are scattered and carried away by the wind. Nowhere stays safe, not teasing Nick over his newfound green tea preference in the squad room, not the salt in Brian's kisses as they got out of the water, not the drink she had with Elliot that winter night when he promised he'd be there for her and then he wasn't. He wasn't, and now they'll never make it right, and she isn't supposed to care but all she wants is for him to walk through that door right now. And Lewis knows, and she hates him for being right. He has seen that this is all anything will ever amount to: A lifetime of failures, ended like this. She will never make up with Elliot. Her last conversation with Brian was a dumb fight. She will never get the endless time they were supposed to have. This is it. This is all there is.

* * *

"You wanna know why I haven't killed you yet?"

"No."

"Because you can only die once."

* * *

The thing she sees in the mirror is scarred and broken, barely recognisable as herself_. _She is some wild, trapped animal fit for slaughter. _"One move, lights out."_ This isn't her. Olivia wouldn't do that. But she is no longer Olivia. She doesn't know who she is, what she is. She examines the cut on her forehead and she can feel the trembling setting in, starting with her hands, although the pain barely registers right now. Neither does the fact of her survival. She needs medical attention. She should call for back-up. Olivia would call for back-up. Elliot would kill Lewis. Nick would…who knows what the hell Nick would do. She has no other half here. She has only herself and the knowledge that Lewis needs to suffer and that she may not have much time, with the two witnesses she just sent away. She can picture the suffering, visualise the torture because thanks to him, she knows what burns and cuts look like first hand. It would be quicker than what he did to her. But she can't do that. No, he needs to die; this needs to end here. This man has seven lives; he gets off every time. She has to end it. Only she can do it. She has to eradicate his existence. He doesn't deserve to live. She has to pull that trigger now. Do it now. Become a murderer now. Shoot a handcuffed man in cold blood. _It's not in cold blood if he'd kill you otherwise. Your life is over, anyway. _She has to hold that gun steady to his head. She can't miss. Only then will she be free. It's only one movement.


	37. Sorry

_**Warnings and such:**__** You've made it through! Congrats! No added awful stuff in this chapter. Just general distress.**_

_**Author's Note:**__** Just a friendly reminder that reviews **__** equal a happy me, dancing and smiling **__** more stories. No reviews **__** still lead to more stories, but no dancing and smiling. **__** Thank you! My last chapter from Ghana, my Ghana stories unfinished, and my heart is breaking a little.**_

* * *

"Nick…"

"Liv?! Where are you?"

"I don't know…I don't wanna leave him to-"

"It's okay, I got it –Amanda!- … … where's Lewis?"

"H- he…"

"Olivia, is he still with you?"

"Yes."

"Is he a threat?"

"No, he's…incapacitated. I need a bus."

"Dispatch is on it. Are you sure Lewis is incapacitated?"

"I think he's…yeah, I'm sure."

"Good. That's good. Is there anyone else with you?"

"No, it's just him and me in that house."

"Where in the house are you?"

"Ground floor."

"Okay, we got your location, we got SWAT and EMS on the way, just stay where you are, don't let Lewis out of-"

"No, no, not SWAT, you don't need to secure…oh, God…"

"It's okay, Liv, it's gonna be all right, we're coming."

"I think I killed him, Nick."

"Don't say any more, okay?"

* * *

There is so much blood everywhere. It has seeped into the carpet to leave a permanent stain even after the paramedics and EMTs have hauled him away to try and save his life. It has splattered onto the wall in streaky drops. It has splashed onto her shirt, where it mixes with her own. It has penetrated her nostrils and coated her fingers from where she keeps touching that gash on her head. She will never feel clean again. She caused that blood to be there. She did that. If she averts her eyes from it, she will be unable to look back.

The paramedic has crouched down beside her, started doing things, has begun asking gentle questions as a bunch of unis traipse around him. She responds on autopilot, unaware of what she is saying, if she even knows the answers or is making things up. She may not be here at all. Any second now, she may wake up in the back of that car and his voice will be there.

"Ma'am?"

"Detective" she says reflexively. The gist appears to be that this guy wants her to come with him, but she can't. She is supposed to stay here. She can't walk out there, where everyone is. Everyone will see. They will know. She tries to explain as much, but everything is all mixed up, and so she ends up yelling at him hysterically not to touch her, even though his hands haven't even come near her yet. Where is Nick? There is a reason she called him directly, not 911.

The stranger draws back, and there is an odd expression on his stocky face as he mutters reassurances, as if he is talking to a dangerous animal. They all looked like that when they walked in and saw Lewis, and she knows it's because of what she has done. Now he is calling for some woman named Tamara to come and help him out here, and the idea of one more person in this house is too much, but going outside these walls is impossible. All this time, she wanted to escape from here, but now that she can, she can't. The quicksand is pulling her under and this guy needs to leave her alone, how the hell is she supposed to know where it hurts? She only feels cold, cold and somewhere very far away from here. But she can't afford to detach just yet. She can't afford to give in. She has to tell him…she…

A dark-haired officer crouches down beside them, introducing herself by her first name only. She has a soft voice, a pleasant voice as she asserts that Lewis is gone (obviously), he can't hurt her anymore (obviously), but she looks so young. Olivia wonders if she is prepared for this, if this was the job she expected when she went out on patrol this morning, and who made the smart decision to send her in here. This crime scene is enough to turn anyone's stomach. Hopefully, she will get a debriefing of some sort. She has stopped paying attention to her words, and Tamara might as well be a muted character on a TV screen with how far away she seems.

It is Nick's voice that cuts through the white noise at last. The relief she felt when she heard him on the phone is nothing compared to now. "Olivia!"

He rushes past the unis, and the officer and the paramedic immediately get up, falling back on instinct as he drops to his knees beside her. "Olivia? It's me, Nick."

"I know." Already, he believes she is somehow incapable.

"Liv…" When she meets his gaze, she sees horror flicker across his face as he takes in her appearance, but he catches himself quickly, switching into a calming sort of authority. "It's over. You're safe now. It's all over."

She tugs at her clothes, suddenly very aware of their smell, of how they cling to her body. She is not his partner. She is a victim. There is a metallic taste in her mouth. She has to get it out. Every time her lips part, they crack some more. "Is he dead?"

"He wasn't, but…I don't know. We need to get you out of here to get you checked out."

"He didn't rape me." It seems very important to explain this right away, because if she doesn't say it now, it will become a question no one wants to ask, but everyone will wonder about. She knows what it looks like. But she has this one thing to hold on to. She got him before. The rest of it all, the other things…it's not the same. He didn't do this one thing. He couldn't. She got him. She is not her mother.

"…okay" Nick replies stoically, betraying no thoughts on the matter. "Do you think you can stand up?" He is asking her a question. He doesn't assume. It is not a trick. After all this time, it is strange to hear someone speaking to her like that.

"Yes" she answers, because there is no way in hell she is going out of here any other way, no matter how out of control her legs seem to be. She still feels drunk, dizzy, out of balance. Things don't stay in focus. Her hands have started to shake.

"All right." He hesitates for a split second –afraid to do something wrong? afraid to touch her?- as his eyes wander over her chest and arms. This is her partner, and he is not supposed to look at her like that. At least he isn't Elliot. It is a sobering thought despite the yearning. But of course, everyone will be looking at her like that, everyone will see and know what Lewis did to her, and there is a whole SWAT team probably still out there and…

"I can't go out there" she states flatly. "I can't."

"Hey, it's okay, we won't go until you're ready." He turns his attention away from her for only a moment to ask a uni to get him a blanket. "I'll be right beside you. We're all just glad you're alive."

All? The squad. The people she would have given anything to see again just a few hours ago, but now the idea of facing them seems impossible. Everything is different now.

Nick gently places a blanket around her shoulders, keeping one hand on her upper back to make it stay there as he holds out his other hand for her to take. Her fingers brush against his palm. He is warm.

* * *

She is still sitting up as she waits for the doctor to return, because lying down seems intuitively scary, risky with all the blows to the head she has received. She must stay awake for this. The idea of being poked and prodded while passed out is unbearable. _"You've been so sweet when you were knocked out."_ She will want painkillers, the nurse who has been stuck with babysitting her tries to tell her again, but she doesn't want to take anything, anything that will make her feel like that stuff Lewis forced down her throat. The pain is getting worse by the minute, so much so it leaves her wishing for the numbness she felt at the house, but at least it lets her know she is alive. She can't let her control slip because if she does, his voice will be in her head and she won't know that it's over. But explaining all that seems too complicated. So she just shakes her head.

There is a commotion of some sort outside, raised voices, Nick is saying something and then it's "no, now!" and yes, that is definitely Brian she hears. And although she has been imagining his voice for the past few days, although she knew this was bound to happen, the panic and the anticipation of the inevitable turn her stomach now. It's bad enough that Nick has seen her like this, he can't let Brian in here, not yet.

But before she can do anything, say anything, he barges in through the doors to the protest of the nurse, pushes past her…and stops in his tracks a few feet away from her. He is out of breath, unshaved, his eyes bloodshot. It looks like he has been crying, but now, he is just staring at her, horrified, his hand covering his mouth. Because he sees what she saw in that mirror. Because he knows. Because she is not what he expected. Because she is not that person anymore. _Say something. Just say something. Please._

"Bri?" Her own voice sounds foreign to her, high-pitched and uncertain, but it gets through to him.

"Liv…" He approaches slowly, reaching out as if to hug her, but thinks better of it, dropping his arms. Because he is afraid to touch her. Because he doesn't want to hurt her.

And it's this that gets her, that makes her half lean, half fall forward into him, burying her face in his shirt. Still, he hesitates in putting his arms around her, and it's a light embrace, one that she could break at any point if she wanted to. And that's the difference. This is not violence. This is…something else.

"You're alive." His voice cracks, and his chest begins to shake. "You're alive."

She can't say anything in response to that fact. She didn't think she would see him again, but here she is. She can't cry. She can't feel. She can't let go.

"Liv, I'm sorry…fuck…I'm so sorry…"


	38. Defeat

_**Author's Note:**__** As I am typing this in my last few minutes in my room and will start writing this chapter at the airport, please excuse me for being disgustingly emotional. I have had this chapter planned out in my head for months now, but that doesn't make it any easier to write, because this story started out with a different tone and my universes have now officially combined. Thank you so, so much for all the encouragement in the form of your comments, particularly to those of you who also had to listen to me complaining when something wasn't coming together. Writing is an emotional outlet either way, but getting feedback is always nice and it reassures me that I am not crazy for caring so much about fictitious characters and having questionable priorities. Or that there are at least other people who are as crazy as me. ;) I appreciate it more than words can express. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. And I think I have officially covered every second of the Bensidy timeline now, so time to let them go (Lindstrom would agree). But if you have enjoyed this story, you could always read "Surrender", because this basically runs right into it and they are set in the same universe in my head. (I lied about that one, by the way: It will have a one-shot follow-up.)  
**_

* * *

The important thing is to keep setting one foot in front of the other. If she focuses on the physical movement alone with masterful concentration, she can avoid thinking. She can ignore the memory of everyone staring at her as she did her shameful walk through the precinct, their horror, their guilt, the _change_ in how they looked at her. She can never go back there. Lewis took it from her for good. He took her life from her. No, she is not allowed to think about that yet, not when it takes her entire focus to just walk in a steady line, to be strong. She made a promise to herself that she would make it out of there. She made it. Now, she just has to keep on making it from one second to the next, forever.

"I've pulled the car around" Brian says just to say something, and she is grateful for the effort. He is so calm now; he asked her what _she _wants and gives her no hesitation at all about going to his place although she knows he must be freaking out on the inside. Frankly, he's overdoing this newfound cool act a little right now, but it's better than the alternative.

The parking lot feels like an unfamiliar place, a strange relic from another era. Just a week ago, it would have been like home. (Of course, she doesn't have an actual home anymore now. Another thing that she is not allowed to think about.) What a difference time makes. Telling the story, all the details –or as complete a version as she will ever tell- brought no relief. Neither did it make things harder. She is just done for today, finished with everything. She didn't realise that it was possible to feel so entirely dead even while she is alive. Alive. That was what she wanted, right? That was all she wanted when Lewis had that gun inside her mouth and she thought she would die. There was some rationale behind that, some foolish idea about how it would be over and anything could be overcome.

But Brian holds open the door for her now and they get in and drive in silence, and the car smells just like it always does, like that disgusting little air freshener he uses every once in a while, but her ribcage hurts, her wrist hurts, her skin hurts, her head is pounding and it's all too much…

"I'm so sorry" he mutters out of the blue as they pull up to a red light.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ No. He has been stealing glimpses at her, and he can't see her crying. She is not ready to have this conversation. She is not ready for him to start asking questions. "Don't…not now."

"Okay." He looks terribly worried, as if she might break if he says one wrong word, but Jesus, she didn't mean it like _that_. Already, she feels bad for him, sitting up all night with her at the hospital, a particular highlight of which involved her throwing up on his shoes, if she recalls it correctly. They were just having fun, and now he's stuck with this different person and in way over his is not what he signed up for. Nobody wants to be a living life raft. It's not that he'll blame her, it's that he will feel _obliged _because he is a good guy, and that is way worse. _"No one wants my left-overs. He'll feel sorry for you, sure, but all he'll see is damaged goods and no one gets it up for that."_ She can't let him see. She has to be herself, but she has no idea what Olivia would do in this situation. She supposes she would be tough.

And she does a pretty good job of that, or so she thinks, as he asks her meaningless questions when they arrive that she can't make sense of. Everything is a blur again by now thanks to the painkillers, fuzzy and blunted around the edges. Walking up a couple of stairs to the entrance becomes a huge task, because she feels lopsided, as if her bad wrist is weighing her down. But she manages on her own, a small victory.

The elevator. Fuck. She had forgotten about the elevator, the way his apartment building has the tiniest old metal cage ever, because location is everything here and if the apartment is an ugly shoebox, it doesn't matter. There should be nothing inherently scary about this. Lewis never did anything to her in an elevator, and it makes her furious that she even gets this sense of panic at the impending entrapment, at being unable to escape from a small, moving room. She is not allowed to start with this avoidance thing. If she starts that, she will never stop. She has to power through. "It's fine."

The doors close, and it is not fine. It is not fine in the least. Her cracked ribs keep her from inhaling fully, she can't breathe like this, and the duct tape keeps her from screaming and she will run out of air, she will choke if she throws up, but no, that is not real, that is in the past and Lewis isn't here. _"You try anything like that again, bitch, and you'll get something in your mouth that you'll like even less."_ She is slipping away rapidly, and Brian is right beside her, holding out his hand, saying something she can't hear because Lewis drowns him out. Why is Lewis' voice here? She has to get out. She has to get out now. She'll die if she doesn't. She has to draw attention. She has to be found. But no one can hear her here.

She stumbles out the door, leaning against the wall because it is the only thing that's holding her upright right now. _Just breathe. Just breathe slowly or you'll get dizzy. It's over. It's over._

It's Brian's voice that pulls her out of her thoughts. "Hey…" He seems torn between touching her and realising that that's a pretty bad idea. "Can I…?"

The absurdity of the question hits home. He is asking permission. He won't do anything against her will. It's almost as if he sort of gets it. But he also looks so hurt in that moment, and it is then that she realises that they will never be the same with each other again. Nothing will ever be simple again in a world where her boyfriend touching her is a big deal. But he is here, and this is not what she expected. If feels okay as she gives him the permission he requires, as he touches her shoulder gently but not too much. It pulls her back to reality like an anchor, and he gets that, and if they have just survived this moment together, maybe they can survive the next, and the next after that, and the next after that.

She leans against him again, against his unwashed shirt, which she ends up clutching hard in her fist, because he can't leave now. She has to stay in this moment, whatever it takes. She can't fall apart. His hand remains steady on her upper back, but his voice is less so as he whispers. "You've made it this far, Liv. The hardest part is over. We'll get through this."

The way his breath is in her hair sends an involuntary shudder down her spine. It's too close, just like _his _voice was and he needs to get away from her, now. She pulls away and walks ahead of him again so he doesn't see, doesn't interpret too much into it. That's what Olivia would do.

When they enter his apartment and the familiar warmth of that place hits her, it's enough to make her dizzy, to make her steady herself by putting her hand against the wall. Once upon a time, she lived under the illusion that Brian Cassidy was an extraordinarily clean and neat guy. That was before she realised that he was simply trying to impress her. Gradually, this impressively tidy and romantic streak for "setting the mood" faded little by little, and months of irregular shift work and spontaneous hook-ups have taken their toll, so what she gets now is usually him hurriedly stacking dishes in the sink before she comes over. Or that's how it used to be, at least. Now, his place is a mess of papers, laundry, normal everyday things. And it's not that it looks terrible, it's that it looks so _normal_, so achingly familiar, as if they have just returned to a doll's house.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been…home" he mutters guiltily, before pestering her with a million questions she barely hears and getting her to sit down.

This is the TV where they used to watch stupid Sunday cooking shows. This is the couch they had sex on. This is where these different people used to sit. All past tense. There was a brief window, and it is gone now. Timing was never their strong suit, she supposes. She can't sit here and pretend otherwise, can't return to a performance of Olivia and Brian – the later years.

So she gets up and runs out, seeking refuge in the bathroom, turning on the tap so he won't hear the sound of her stifled sobs as she sits down on the toilet seat, doubling over. It hurts, it hurts so much and she is afraid of that mirror above the sink. Brian knocks on the door, asking if she is okay, and how is that even a question right now?

It's over, and Lewis is still here, and even if he dies, he will never, ever leave. _"You thought you could just run out of here? Pretend it never happened? You'll never forget this, baby. What, you're gonna cry now? I expected more of a fight from you. It's like you're not even trying."_ He was right about her, and that is all there is to it. He saw who she was and why she would make the perfect victim. It's not her fault, but it is. The joke's on her, because maybe she was supposed to survive all along, maybe that's what he wanted. Maybe her mother was right, maybe Elliot was right, maybe this is all she is.

But he can't win. He can't. Her fingernails dig into her skin as she tries to pull herself back to the present, to breathe and to stay focused. She needs to sleep. All she wants is to sleep and never wake up. She has some pills that "will help with that" (although she doubts they would help with the never waking up part – a very ineffective way of trying), but then everything will go all mixed up again and if she slips away, she knows she will slip back into that beach house with him, where she can't go. And she doesn't have her gun anymore, and anyway, Brian is out there, and she can't do that to him when he's all "you're alive!" like it's some great fucking gift. Lewis can't win.

An eternity goes by until there is nothing left inside her, and she washes her face without looking in the mirror and breathes and walks out. At the sound of the door, Brian immediately comes out of the kitchen, studying her carefully, with that same worried look still on his face. "Hey."

One glance at the living room tells her that he has been cleaning up, and it almost makes her laugh, because clean dishes clearly solve everything, especially this. But she doubts she will ever laugh out loud again.

"How are you?" he asks, visibly afraid of the answer.

"Tired."

He nods and, in an unnecessary gesture, walks her over to the bedroom, holding the door open for her. He's got to stop doing that. But she can tell he has cleaned up in here, too, and there is a glass of water on the nightstand. As this registers, it fills her with something. Not quite feeling, but something that is not dead.

He trails after her and stands around uncertainly at a safe distance as she lies down in the clothes she is wearing on top of the covers. "You want to...uh…take anything?"

"No."

"Right." He looks like he is about to say something else, but closes his mouth and turns to leave. And just then, the thought of him walking out and shutting that door becomes unbearable.

"Hey" she says uncertainly, "stay?"

He swallows hard. "Okay."

_~*~The End~*~_


End file.
